Summer Heatwaves In Your Eyes
by linalove
Summary: 'One day you fall for this boy.And he touches you with his fingers.And he burns holes in your skin with his mouth.And it hurts when you look at him. And it hurts when you don't.And it feels like someone's cut you open with a jagged piece of glass.' (Maureen Medved) John Dillinger/OC. Rating will change in the future.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello and welcome to my new tale! This is the first time I try my hand at a Public Enemies fic so please take it easy on me.**

**Okay, so this is AU because our Mr. Dillinger does not die. ;o)**

**It is John/OC but with a twist. This is the prologue and the story does not start with this.**

**If you take the time to read then please leave me some feedback. It'd be greatly appreciated. Because I have a few other stories I am working on at the moment this will be updated probably every second week or so. You can join me on Facebook for details on updates, info and covers.**

**Okay, without further ado I present you the prologue.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

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**Summer Heatwaves In Your Eyes**

**Prologue**

"_**One day you fall for this boy. And he touches you with his fingers. And he burns holes in your skin with his mouth. And it hurts when you look at him. And it hurts when you don't. And it feels like someone's cut you open with a jagged piece of glass."  
― Maureen Medved, **__**The Tracey Fragments**_

The light fell inside the room from the windows with a vengeance, no longer concealing the secrets of the night. Dreams and reality were so far removed from one another. You can dream, all night long you can dream, but when you wake up your actions, the ones stemmed from your dreams, take form, they materialize and they turn to look at you in the eye. They finally take their revenge with the first ray of sunlight that falls upon your brow in the morning, the one that causes you to roll away from your life; the one that begins when the dreams are finally over.

Every action in life has a consequence, it does not pass unpunished and betrayal and lies always bring only tragedy; for everyone involved. They say if you see a gun at the beginning of a story you will always have to face it towards the end. And the gun that was pointed at the man who was standing in the centre of the room was surely indication enough.

The dark haired woman holding the gun was shaking, her small hand and fingers were tightly wrapped around the thing and even though her lips were set in determination the two other occupants of the room could see that it weighed it a ton on her arm.

Tear stains were shining on the woman's cheeks and her eyes were narrowed into two blue lines of jealousy and sheer fury. Fury because it had taken her too long to realize that things were not as they seemed. That sacrifice did not always ensure loyalty let alone love and desire. It had taken her too damn long to see what was right in front of her eyes. Her gaze left the man standing stock still in front of her and went to the woman who was pressed against the wall near the window. Her eyes were wide and kept shifting between her and the man.

Billie's eyes narrowed further and when the other woman's eyes stayed on the man for far too long she spoke for the first time since she had entered the apartment.

"Don't you look at him! Don't you dare look at him!" she exploded and the woman jumped, her wide blue eyes shifting to Billie, "I should have noticed it before. You were always around, staring with your puppy dog eyes, pretending you understand him, pretending to take his side-…"

"Doll, leave her alone." The man spoke up, his voice quiet but sharp.

"Why? Am I wrong? She is the danger!"

"Billie-…"

"Her father's working for the Federal Police! He's an agent. Did you know that, Johnny? Your supposed friend, or should I say _lover_, has more secrets than you think" Billie spat.

He cocked his head to the side, "Yeah, I knew that. I know everything. But she ain't the one who gave me up to the feds, is she now?" he drawled as he stepped closer and narrowed his brown eyes at her.

Billie's expression flickered from determination to insecurity for a second before she spoke up, "I had to. You weren't stopping. I told you that they would catch you and eventually kill you. It was only a warning. I knew you'd get away." She defended herself.

"I see." he murmured as he approached her even more, "So, Mira isn't your problem, is she?"

"You know what's my problem. You promised to take care of me." She whispered, her voice cracking, "You promised that we'd be together, that'd we grow old together."

"We do not-…" the woman standing behind John started.

"Miranda." He cut her off, "You promised you'd trust me." He looked back at his girlfriend.

"Yes! And look where that trust took me!" Billie shook her head and abruptly turned, pointing the gun at Miranda who didn't even blink.

"But it's all over. For both of you." Billie murmured as she cocked the gun higher and pressed her finger against the trigger, "It ends here." She whispered and took a deep breath.

But then there was a sudden movement and the gun was lowered by John's hand. Taken by surprise, Billie stumbled back but she slapped his hand away from her arm and pushed him several feet away. He fell against the couch and before she had the chance to point the gun to Miranda again, the other woman had stepped in front of John.

"Please, you have to understand that this…" Miranda took a deep breath and swallowed hard, "Me and him…we mean nothing. Please, listen to him." She pleaded and Billie noticed how her voice quivered, betraying her words.

"I am done listening." She whispered and then she fired the gun.

Strong arms grasped Miranda's waist and pulled her out of the way. John ducked, bringing Miranda with him but then she was pushing out of his arms. She got to her feet and advanced on Billie whose eyes widened, and before she could fire the gun again, Mira had her hand on the gun. With a tug and a swift move of her hand she had it out of Billie's trembling one.

"Give it back!" The woman cried, her eyes wild and furious as Miranda pushed her away easily, being taller and heavier.

"No." Miranda shook her head and lifted the gun, pointing it at Billie.

"Mira, give it here." John spoke from behind her, "Now." He barked impatiently but the woman shook her head.

"No, this is not you. You're going to turn away, walk out and head to the cafeteria by the corner. Once there, you two are going to talk and I'm going to disappear. Okay? There is no need for this. There's enough violence in our lives already. Please." She pleaded and Billie smiled.

"You always did have a way with words. I can see why he likes you. You're pretty, you're younger, sophisticated, _educated_." She grimaced, "Have you taught him new tricks? I bet you have." She took a step closer, pressing her chest right against the tip of the gun, "But you're not going to sweet talk me. Never again. And I know you're not going to disappear. He won't let you."

Her hand flew to Miranda's neck and squeezed while her other one threaded through her long hair.

Miranda cried out from the shock and tried to push her away with her free hand but it was of no use.

"Evelyn!" John screamed in pure rage as he stepped forward.

Miranda gasped for breath and pushed her hand with the gun against the other woman's chest more tightly in an attempt to free herself but her finger slipped, pressed onto the trigger with force and then everything stilled. The only sound she could hear was the wild beating of her heart and her labored breathing. Nothing more.

The shot echoed in the walls of the apartment and Miranda looked at her own hands with disbelief. The small pocket gun mocked her as she gazed at it and she immediately dropped it to the ground.

The female hands holding her hair and neck in a tight grip loosened their hold and the blue eyes of Billie Frechette stared at her in shock before the life was slowly burned out from their depths. She fell on the carpeted floor with a dull thud and Miranda jumped when the dead woman's foot collided with her ankle. She stumbled backwards and her back collided with the man that was staring with wide eyes at his unmoving girlfriend.

His hands shot up and grasped her shoulders in a tight grip and she whimpered as they slowly slipped up towards her neck.

"What have you done, Mira?" he breathed and for a moment his hands squeezed her neck so tightly that she thought he was going to kill her. His fingers were white at the knuckles but she did not do anything to stop him as he whirled her around and slammed her up against the wall.

Her breath was knocked out of her and she clutched at the wrist that was holding her neck in a death grip. If he wanted to he could snap her neck in two.

"I am so sorry." She choked out as her eyes went to the still body by their feet, "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to, John." She cried as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, "Please." A hiccup got caught in her throat and the man sneered as a tear slipped from his eye and fell down his right scarred cheek.

His eyes scanned her face and the more he stared at her the more his hold on her pale neck tightened. She whimpered again and closed her eyes, knowing that he would do it. He would kill her. He, who had always looked at her with such warmth he would surely end her life after this. Because she was not her; she was not Billie. He did not love her and he never would. But at least she'd die knowing that she'd saved him. Because even if she had not pulled that trigger, Billie would have; on both of them. Because she loved him and she would not share him. With anyone. Ever. Because she had sacrificed so much for him. She'd gone to prison for him. What had she done? What had Miranda Crowley done? Nothing; nothing but take the life of the woman he adored.

But wait a minute. He wasn't doing anything. And was she mistaken or his hold on her neck had started to loosen up?

Stifling another sob, she opened her eyes and saw him looking at her…oddly. The fury was still there. The anguish, the loss, the desperation was there but there was something else inside his dark eyes as well; something foreign. Something she had only seen once before in his gaze. And she remembered when. It was the night she had fallen apart in his arms. That one night when he had betrayed his heart for her. She almost winced. That's what she was; his guilty pleasure. A dirty secret that he had revealed himself not with words but with actions. Jealousy was a fatal mistake to commit. And they had both committed it and now they were paying for it.

"Damn you." His voice broke her from her haze and she blinked, her vision blurry from her tears, "Damn you to hell." He hissed before he slammed her head roughly against the wall and then smashed his lips hard against hers.

Miranda tensed up, every nerve in her body convulsed as he kissed her and when he broke the kiss and pulled her head forward, tucking her face in the crook of his neck, she froze.

What was he doing? What in God's name-…

"It's alright." He breathed and she blinked rapidly, "No one is ever going to know." He murmured and he nodded as if forcing himself to believe it, "It was self defense. Ain't no one ever going to know." He told her as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her away from the wall, "'Cause you and I are going to make this place disappear, doll. Along with everything in it." His voice carried such a fierce determination that she was barely able to detect the weakness in his tone.

His words and everything they might do were not going to change it though. She, Miranda Crowley, was a murderer, a killer. A woman who killed Billie Frechette just to save the man she loved from her wrath. She was going to hell either way. And the warmth and fondness in his eyes would no longer matter there.

**End of the prologue.**

**Author's note: So? What did you think? Should I tell their whole tale? I promise all will be explained as we go on. So, if you liked it and want more please review. The first chapter will be up in a week or so but I need your feedback, because it feeds the muse! ;o)**

**Until next time, loves!**

**Xxx Lina :o)**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello and welcome to the first official chapter of this story!**

**I want to thank: XoxoBeautiful NightmareXoxo, LabyFan23, xoangelwingxo, music is life 99 xxx, nuckythompson, aheartofdarkness, dionne dance, Leyshla Gisel, Why Fireflies Flash, catnaps, Nelle07, samba sockz, ZantheXV, CharlieCats, mariangisborne, ForeverACharmedOne, TinkerbellxO, applebombz and PGAEmma.**

**Thank you all for the support! I hope you like this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

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**Chapter 1**

_**A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction.**_

_**~Oscar Wilde**_

_1933, First National Bank, East Chicago_

"Welcome to our bank. How may I help you?" her voice is light and polite but it's obvious that she has said that line too many times for it to be original. Her hand is already outstretched in order to receive the client's documentation but when nothing is pressed into her palm she looks up. Her eyes widen slightly because the face gazing at her is young and curious and bright; a complete antithesis to the weather and the usual faces of the people coming in. Suddenly she feels foolish and straightens in her chair. She pulls her hand back and smiles a bit because the brown eyed man in front of her has a smirk upon his face as he regards her.

As she takes him in she is startled. Good and highly expensive clothes, especially his long black coat, short dark hair that is pushed back and hands deep in his pockets. His eyes are sparkling and she wonders why. Most people coming in were glum and long faced; reluctant to make another withdrawal from their much declining accounts for this Depression was weighing them down. But the man with the beautifully shaped mouth and moustache seems relaxed and unburdened.

_Odd._

"May I help you?" she asks again because he has not moved and there is a line of people behind him, waiting to be serviced.

"Good morning." He seems to snap out of his daze and he takes a step forward, "I would like to cash this check, please. Then I'd like to make an account." He says as he pushes the check towards her.

She takes it and looks at it for a moment before she raises her eyes to his, "I am going to need identification for that, sir." She replies but he's already pulling out his card.

He passes it over to her and she smiles.

"Thank you, Mr…Lawrence." She says as she looks at his identity document, "Wait a moment, please."

He inclines his head and waits as she stands up and makes her way to the back, to the offices behind her desk.

When she's back she's smiling.

"Here you are, sir. You're all set." She says as she hands him back his ID and the passbook for his account.

He takes them and smiles, "Thank you." He places them in his coat pocket and stares at her intently for a moment before he speaks.

"You should smile more often, Ms. Crowley." He smirks before he turns and walks away. She watches as he makes his way out of the bank with a confident swagger and she's speechless. How on earth does he know her name? And that smirk…that smirk looks awfully familiar the more she thinks about it. She has seen it before. But where? She frowns and shakes her head, squinting hard as she tries to place him. When two minutes pass with no luck of recalling that face she sighs.

She knows she must look stupid and so it is not a surprise when the next client is brusque with her. She shakes her head and accepts the old woman's passbook with an odd feeling in her stomach.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_Two weeks later…_

"Miranda, why so glum?" The voice is light and caring and she knows that it's supposed to make her feel better but it doesn't.

Miranda Crowley turns and looks at the woman standing behind her.

"I am not glum, Helen. I am annoyed." Miranda replies as she looks back at her fellow worker.

"Moved out yet?" Helen's green eyes are worried and Miranda shrugs.

"Yesterday." She whispers and Helen clicks her tongue. She hates that sound. Her father always makes that sound. It's his way of letting her know how displeased he is with her; _all_ the bloody time.

"You know that's the best. You always fight with him. It has to be done. Your father is not the best company right now." She murmurs as the bank door opens.

"I know. And it took me too long to act anyway." Miranda eyes the man who approaches and straightens, "He's _never_ good company…" she murmurs bitterly and then adds quietly, "Talk to you later." She says and Helen nods.

As she looks up she is startled, "Hello. What can I do for you today?" she asks with a little bit of exasperation.

The man smiles and chuckles, "I have the impression that you do not like me, doll."

"My name is not _doll_, sir. It's Ms. Crowley or Miranda. Either one." She snaps and his eyebrows almost disappear under his hairline. He looks surprised but his eyes are laughing; at her or not she is not certain.

"I like Mira. Can I call you Mira?" he asks casually as he leans against the counter and hands her his passbook, his fingers brushing against her own on purpose. She stiffens because the male touch had scarcely intended to bring her comfort or joy. She gulps and pushes that thought to the back recesses of her mind because he's looking at her, waiting for her to speak.

"Pet name? I don't know you, sir." She says as she takes his passbook and eyes him with suspicion. Something about him seems…off. She straightens and takes a deep breath.

"How did you know my name?" she whispers and he grins, showing off a perfect row of white teeth and making her feel flushed all of a sudden.

"Well, for that you need to have dinner with me. Say…eight o' clock tonight? And I need five hundred dollars, please." He points to the account book in her hand.

Miranda is shocked at the man's cheek and straightforwardness. Was he…_flirting_ with her?

Trying to look neutral she opens his passbook and eyes his account information. Her eyes widen.

"Another withdrawal?" she mutters as she looks at him from beneath her eyelashes, her blue eyes unsettled by the man's boldness towards her.

He simply grins and nods, "So how about that dinner?" he cocks his head to the side and Miranda is lost.

"I don't know about you but I usually have dinner at the restaurant at the corner." She replies as she hands him back his passbook with the money in it. She bites her tongue hard at her words. Why on earth did she say that? What if he is a murderer or something? Weren't all psychotic killers good looking? Like demons so they could enchant their victims.

_Slow it down. Not everyone is like that_. She shakes her head and focuses on him. He's looking at her peculiarly, almost mildly surprised; almost is the key word.

He regards her for a few moments with surprise evident in his gaze but then he laughs and nods his head.

"I'm in. See you then." And then he's gone with a wink.

Miranda wonders if she's done the right thing. As she sits there, mulling over it she comes to the conclusion that she can just not go.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She walks into the restaurant drenched in water. She lowers her umbrella and then her eyes do a quick perusal of the establishment. When she spots him across the restaurant with his back to her, she falters. Why on earth did she come? She has work in her new apartment. Things to do, boxes to unpack but as she thinks over it though the idea of leaving sounds bleak. Taking a deep breath she runs a hand through her dark hair and then starts walking over to him.

She comes to stand next to his chair and it is then that he looks up and notices her. He grins and immediately stands up, his hands already on her coat, pulling it off her shoulders.

He frowns, "You're soaked." He remarks and then he is throwing her coat on the spare chair and reaches for his own. He shakes it to unfold it and then he is wrapping it around her form, his hands pushing her hair away from her neck so he could tuck it across her shoulders. His hands tug on the material on the front and then he smiles crookedly.

"There you go." He gestures to the seat across from him but she stares at him with wide eyes before she blinks and sits down quickly, a fierce blush on her cheeks.

He chuckles lightly and then his fingers beckon the waiter over.

"What will you have? They make the best steaks ever." He tells her as he leans back in his chair and regards her studiously, taking her in.

She knows she must look a mess. Soaked hair and a bit pale but she straightens and elegantly reaches out to take a sip of the water that there is already in front of her.

As she does so she can feel his eyes on her. She lowers the glass and looks at him. His fingers are drumming softly on the table and his mouth is slightly pursed as he regards her.

"So," His eyebrows are raised when she speaks, "Do you come here often to eat or to stalk me?" she asks and he gazes at her for a few, torturously long seconds before he laughs and leans forward.

"Both." He replies, "But first, what will you eat?" he cocks his head to the side as the waiter comes over and stands next to their table.

"The usual, Martin." She murmurs and the waiter smiles at her.

"Ms. Crowley." He inclines his head and then turns to eye the man, "Mr. Dillinger?" his voice is low and quiet and Miranda freezes while her eyes snap up to the waiter and then to the man before her.

Mr. Lawrence or rather Mr. Dillinger, grins and replies without taking his eyes off of Miranda's shocked blue gaze.

"A steak with salad on the side." He replies and Miranda can't take her eyes off of him.

Jesus Christ! Dillinger. John _bloody_ Dillinger was in front of her and he was grinning at her like there was no tomorrow.

The waiter nods his head and then walks away to get their orders.

Miranda scoffs and abruptly sits up, throwing his coat off. He leans forward as she tries to walk away and grabs her hand, pushing it hard against the tablecloth.

"Ms. Crowley, sit down." He says quietly and she tries to take her hand back but his hold is like iron. Where did he find so much strength?

"Are you mocking me? Is this some kind of joke?" she hisses, feeling like a fool but then he stands and grasps her arms, pushing her down into her seat with force.

She gasps as he leans down and places his hands on either side of her chair, trapping her.

"Calm down." He murmurs and she stares at him with wild eyes.

"What do you want?" she asks because she slowly starts making the connection.

He smiles, "What makes you think that I want something, doll?" he asks and she stiffens.

"You must want something. Were you ever going to tell me who you are or would you wait for me to discover it on my own?" she asks with irk and he exhales slowly before he pulls back.

"Don't leave." He warns before he walks back to his seat and sits down.

Miranda eyes him with dread.

"The question is what do _you_ want?" he asks her and she frowns.

"Excuse me?"

He leans forward and narrows his eyes, "I am here to propose a deal." He drawls.

"Deal? I don't like robbing banks, Mr. Dillin-…"

"Call me John. My friends call me John and I think you and I are going to be good friends." He cuts her off and there is such confidence in his eyes that she falters.

"What kind of deal, _John_?" she spats the name and he grins.

"I will take care of your father as long as you give me information about his moves." He starts, "_All_ his moves." He leans back.

"Moves?" she chokes and he nods, his expression suddenly somber; too somber.

"Henry Crowley, bank shareholder, head of the new Dillinger Squad and infamous rapist. Shall I continue, Mira?" he asks her quietly as he eyes her with intensity.

Miranda's breath hitches and her hand flies to her mouth, ready to cover any noises. She swallows hard and he looks slightly guilty as they lock eyes.

Moments pass and they are both silent until the waiter comes with their food.

"Thanks, Martin." John nods his head but Miranda eyes the food with disgust. Wave after wave of nausea makes her stomach churn and it brings a bitter taste in her mouth, burning her tongue with acid.

"Is that why you approached me? So that I can be your _spy_?" she says in a whisper after some time and he shifts in his seat.

"You looked so sad that I wanted to kill myself." He drawls as he leans forward, "But I decided against it."

"What are you saying?" she chokes out and he takes a deep breath.

"Give me information and I will take down your father when it's time. Like a sick animal. Ain't no problem really." he shakes his head and Miranda shivers.

"You want to kill him." She states and he shrugs, "But I don't want you to." She shakes her head and leans back, the wild beating of her heart a bit uneven by then.

He frowns and there is confusion in his gaze because his plan did not work.

She reaches out and slips her hand into her coat pocket, "Why so desperate? How do you know I won't reveal your identity?" she asks as she pulls out her wallet and regards him curiously.

John narrows his eyes, "Little choices lead to narrow roads. And I don't think you will." He replies immediately.

She is momentarily stunned but then she nods and slips a card towards him. He takes it and smirks but she does not return it.

"You read my file." She accuses and he tilts his head to the side.

"Sorry."

"You're not." She fires back and he raises his hands in surrender.

"I suppose I am not." He nods and grins.

Miranda suddenly stands up, "I need to think about it." She murmurs, the sudden urge to disappear very prominent in every nerve of her body and she steps back, "Call me."

With that she grabs her wet coat and walks away, no longer caring of the rain that slaps her skin with every step she takes.

**End of chapter 1**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading. Leave me a review if you can! It means the world.**

**Next update in two weeks! ;o)**

**Check out my Facebook page for news!**

**Xxx Lina :o)**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Welcome back! I am on time, right? I want to thank: CharlieCats, dionne dance, TinkerbellxO, Why Fireflies Flash, nuckythompson, simbasockz, LabyFan23, Leyshla Gisel, xoangelwingxo, ForeverACharmedOne and XantheXV. Thank you all so much for your support.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

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**Chapter 2**

'_**Man is not what he thinks he is,**_

_**He is what he hides.'**_

_**~Andre Malraux **_

Miranda blinks the sleep away and reaches blindly for her cup of steaming coffee. The book sways precariously upon her lap as she does so and her hand shots out to balance it. She takes a sip and feels the warmth spreading through her body, relaxing and comforting in a way that it never has before. Being, finally, alone was so much better than having to live under the same roof with a person who has made your life a living hell for the last fifteen years. Her small apartment is still a mess but she is taking her time with it because it is hers and she can do whatever she wants with it.

Her thoughts are a scrambled mess however and the book gradually lost its interest. She sighs and looks away from the page. Her eye catches the glimmering sunlight and she abandons the book with a groan. As she turns to put it away her phone starts ringing and she yelps, not used to the sound of it. She rarely has phone calls. Placing her hand over her chest she stands up from the bed and grabs it from the table. She brings it to her bed and sits down again with it. She answers in a hesitant voice with a simple hello. There's a moment of silence and then a soft chuckle.

"Morning. I didn't wake you, did I?" the male voice is light and teasing and she frowns, momentarily not recognizing it.

"Um…" she falters and at the second chuckle her eyes widen in realization, "You called." She murmurs.

"Sure, I did. You hoped I wouldn't?" the response is smooth and she frowns for a moment, trying to come up with something clever but nothing comes up.

"Left you speechless, did I, baby doll? That's me." He laughs and her anger flares.

"It takes more than a phone call to leave me speechless, Mr. D-…"

"It's John." He warns in a firmer tone and she pauses before she realizes that he fears phone calls in case of being recognized and tracked down.

"John." She obliges and she doesn't know why but her hands start to shake. He called too early. She still doesn't know if she wants to help him.

"Are you there?" he asks her and the frown is obvious in his tone.

Miranda blinks and clears her throat, "Yeah. You're early." Is her quiet reply.

"Well, I like to plan ahead…recently." He murmurs, "Have you thought it over? Or do I need to enhance my offer?" he asks her with a suave drawl and she bites her lip hard before she answers.

"I am not sure. What more is there to offer?" she asks him and he pauses before he replies.

"Dinner with me. Tonight. Fancy restaurant, whiskey…even a bit of dancing if you're up to it." There's something in his voice and as she starts to realize what it is she feels irritation.

"I am no charity case, John. Who do you think you are-…"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down. It was just a suggestion." He cuts her right off and she falters. She really needs to stop being so defensive and curt towards others but she can't help it.

"I cannot tonight." She replies back and there's a moment of silence.

"Session?" he quips and she frowns.

"Just how much do you know?" she asks him sharply, her fingers tightening around the receiver.

"Can't talk about this over the phone, doll. So, how about tomorrow? I am free." He presses and when she doesn't reply he continues, "We'll talk some more. Somewhere quiet. What do you say?"

Miranda swallows hard before she takes a deep breath, "Fine. Where?"

"Oh, I'll find you. Don't worry." He replies casually and she frowns, "Oh and wear comfortable shoes tomorrow morning." He adds before the line goes off.

Miranda gapes at the receiver and pulls it away from her ear with wide eyes. Feeling utterly bewildered, she puts the phone away and nervously tugs her robe closer around her body.

What in hell did that mean? She was sure she'd find out sooner or later…

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She's in the process of hooking her right earring in place when there is a knock on her door. Miranda freezes up. No one knows her new home apart from Helen. She comes out into the hall and peers nervously at the door. She swallows hard and almost jumps in fright when there's another knock.

Straightening her spine and gritting her teeth, she starts walking towards the door. She slowly unlocks it and carefully looks outside.

"Miranda, may I come in?" the voice brings shivers up and down her spine and she can already feel her chest closing in, pressing into her lungs with force.

Her father eyes her with patience and there is a calm expression upon his face as he waits. She hates that expression. It's the calm before the storm. Her eyes are wide as she looks at him and she can feel the doorknob pressing hard against her palm but she knows that it's her own fingers that are tightly wrapped around it.

"Why are you here?" she breathes out and she is glad that she didn't remove the latch from the door.

"I need to speak to you. Immediately." His voice is firm and he eyes her with coldness.

"I have nothing to say to you. We had a deal. You said you'd leave me alone. So keep your part of the bargain while I keep mine."

"My situation is a bit more serious than your promise of secrecy." He said and she grits her teeth hard together.

"You can call me instead-…"

"Miranda, open the door before I am forced to break it down." He snaps and she tenses up.

"Five minutes or I'll be late for work." She says at last before she opens the door and steps to the side to let him pass. Even his air is making every hair on her body stand up on end. What does he want?

She shuts the door and leans against it as he walks in and lets his eyes peruse her small apartment.

"You left our house for this?"

"I left _your_ house because I couldn't live under the same roof with you. Because you're not good for me. Because I cannot bear another black eye, _daddy_." She spits out and he cocks an eyebrow.

"I see the sessions are helping."

"And I see that yours are not." She fires back with irk.

"Do not raise your voice at me-…"

"And you shouldn't have been raising your hand at me but you did it. You shouldn't have hurt mother-…" she stops herself and she watches as he stiffens up but she continues after a moment, "Now talk. I have to leave for work-…"

"The work I gave you?" he drawls as his green eyes fall on her small couch.

"You didn't give me anything. I had the qualifications. What do you want from me?"

Henry Crowley sighs and rubs his eyes before he looks up at his daughter.

"Your file is missing from the psychologist's office. Someone broke in and stole it." He says and Miranda's eyes widen.

_Dillinger._ It's the first thought that comes into her mind. After all he said that he had seen it.

"Oh? Who took it?" she asks quietly but she knows that her father is on edge. Domestic abuse is not a good spot on an agent's file.

"I'm on it but I do not know yet." His eyes fall on her face and he's inspecting it for any signs of knowledge, "You don't know anything?" he asks and she shrugs.

"Why should I know when you don't? You know everything." She replies as she crosses her arms over her chest. As she does so, her arms brush up against her red silk shirt and it makes her shiver despite the warmth of the house.

"Unfortunately, I don't know everything." He takes a step closer and she tries hard to hold her ground, not to cower away from him.

He looks momentarily surprised but remains quiet, "Miranda-…"

"Is there anything else?" she cuts him off and his expression turns sour.

"I hope you were not foolish enough to speak about it to anyone besides Dr. Roberts." He says in a low voice, "This can destroy both of us. My new position-…"

"This leak of information can only hurt you. I've been hurt already." She takes a step closer and looks him in the eye, her blue eyes frozen with hate and desperation, "So, don't you dare blame me for this. You're on your own now. I am not covering you up anymore. If it comes out I won't come to your defense. I will tell the truth and I'll be glad to see you knocked off your precious and gilded throne." A tear slips from her eye and she quickly reaches up to wipe it away.

He doesn't explode like she thinks he would. Perhaps the sessions are working after all.

He simply stares at her with hard eyes before he lowers his head and heads over to the door. He hesitates and she tenses up as she stands with her back to him.

"Miranda, I am sorry for…what happened to you." He says after a moment and her eyes widen in incredulity. His words instead of comforting her are angering her. He has turned her into an unforgiving person…Or perhaps only when it comes to him she's unforgiving.

Slowly, she turns to face him and shakes her head, "Don't apologize to me. Only cowards apologize for something they could just stop doing." She murmurs as she takes a step closer, "And let's say I accept the apology; would mom, our housekeeper or your assistant forgive you?" she asks and he grits his teeth, "What if they hadn't kept their silence? Would your money be of any good then?"

He doesn't reply. Instead he opens the door and walks out of her apartment, shutting it firmly behind him.

The sound echoes in the silence around her but unlike other times she doesn't contemplate on her words. She simply walks towards the bathroom to get ready.

When she is ready, she walks out of the apartment with her mouth set in determination.

oOoOooOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The day at the bank is really slow. Miranda spends half the day walking in and out of Mr. Hodgins' office, the director of the bank. All she does is bring in paperwork and coffee for the man while he doesn't look up from his stack of papers. Helen is very busy reading her morning paper and even as Miranda places a cup of coffee on her desk, she still doesn't look up from her reading.

She shakes her head when she at last takes a seat behind the counter and leans against her chair with her steaming cup of dark coffee in hand. She feels good; lighter. For the first time in her life she made her feelings known and it felt fantastic. Taking a deep breath, she takes a sip from her hot coffee and when two customers walk in with long faces, she smiles at them. They seem surprised and one of them, an old lady, does smile back as Miranda hands her back her passbook and money.

"Have a nice day." She says quietly and as the old lady turns to leave three men in long coats and hats walk in. Miranda looks at them with a frown. Two of them head towards the director's desk and the other one-…

"You?" she murmurs as John comes towards her and smirks at her.

"Me." He hands her his passbook and she frowns as she takes it.

"What are you doing here?" she asks quietly as he leans against the counter.

"I want to make a complete withdrawal." He drawls and Miranda pauses.

"Is that all?" she asks as she looks up at him.

"Yeah." He eyes her with interest as she sets all her efforts on giving him his money.

"Well, it's not that much anyway." She mutters and he chuckles.

She looks at him startled before she stands and heads towards Mr. Hodgins to get the approval.

It takes her some time and when she's back at her seat the two men are still hovering about and John…John has an odd look upon his face as she hands him the money.

Miranda starts to get suspicious, "Why are you really here-…Ow!"

In a flash he has a gun pointed at her and she jumps in shock, "What are you doing-…"

"Stand up. Keep your hands up where I can see them." He says with a crooked grin and at Helen's loud screech he rolls his eyes and pulls out a second gun and points it at her. Miranda stares at him with wide eyes. What in hell is he doing?

"Not a peep, doll. You." He points at Miranda as the other men grab the director by the collar and start dragging him towards the safe, "Get out of there." When Miranda hesitates he narrows his eyes, "Now." He pulls the safety back from the gun and Miranda swallows hard before she complies.

She walks around to him and he places the tip of her gun against her back as he leads her towards the safe and the director.

"Nelson, cover the doors." John commands as he steps with Miranda next to the other robber who has his gun pointed at the director.

"But you said-…"

"Now!" John barks, cutting off the shorter man .

Nelson presses his lips tightly together before he complies. Miranda has heard about him…Baby Face Nelson. He is infamous for his robberies but unlike John Dillinger he is also a murderer. Miranda shivers as the man hops on top of the counter and looks around with glee. In his free hand he is holding a large barrel-…

"Red, get the money." John's voice intrudes on her musings and she turns to look at him. The gun is still pressing against her, this time against her side, and as she looks at the director she can see the man shaking.

John eyes her up and down and then nudges her with the gun, "Told you to wear comfy shoes, doll." He drawls and she frowns before she looks down at her high heels.

"What-…"

"I said don't move, lady!" Nelson's voice is loud and Miranda looks at him just as he fires his gun towards the wall that is right above Helen's head.

The other woman jumps and yelps and Miranda can see her shaking in fear.

Miranda turns and glares at John who stands calmly there while his partner in crime grabs whatever money is at the safe.

When she doesn't take her eyes off of him, he turns and shakes his head at her, "Don't look at me, doll. I may call the shots but I ain't a fucking cop." He drawls and she sputters as he grabs her arm and starts leading her towards the doors with the man he called _Red_ trailing behind them with Mr. Hodgins.

"Nelson!" John calls and winks at the man, "Remember what I said? Do the job and no victims. Got it?" his voice is business like and Nelson grins with glee before he nods at him.

"Good." John murmurs before he pushes Miranda out of the bank.

"Mira!" Helen cries but Nelson is already shouting at her and another clerk to get out.

"Helen-…You're hurting me!" Miranda exclaims as John puts his guns away and throws her unceremoniously towards a car that is parked at the right side of the road.

"Apologies later." He tells her as he opens the door to the car and pushes her in. She lands on her hands and knees on top of seat and winces as her ankle gets twisted a bit.

"Red, get in the front. Let him go." He motions to Mr. Hodgins who looks like he's just woken up from a nightmare before he gets into the seat next to Miranda.

She sits back as Red throws the bags of money into the seat next to him and then gets into the car.

Miranda reaches down to rub her foot and eyes John with shock, "What are you doing?" she asks but he ignores her.

"Drive off." He pats Red on the shoulder but then there is a sudden explosion and she cries out. She turns to look behind them as John's friend starts the car and as she does so she can see that the bank is on fire. Nelson stands there laughing for a few moments before he hops into another car and takes off towards the other direction.

Miranda turns to look at John but he's looking at her twisted ankle, "Are you mad? What did you do?" she yells at him as she tries to look back at the enflamed building.

"Calm down, lady-…"

"Hey, I am not a lady!" she snaps at Red and both men chuckle at her expense. John reaches down to grab her hurt ankle but she tenses up and severely slaps his hands away. He cocks an eyebrow and raises his hands up in surrender.

"I'm only trying to help, doll." He says with a smirk. He looks so damn satisfied with himself and Miranda wonders if that were his way of taking part of his revenge on the Bureau.

"You knew my father is shareholder in this bank." She murmurs and John shrugs, "You had planned this." She blinks in realization and John grins crookedly.

"Told you to wear comfortable shoes, doll. Can't say I didn't warn you." He shrugs again and Miranda wants to shout at him.

"I lost my job." She whispers in a lethal voice but John only smiles and looks ahead.

"That you did." He nods and for the first time Miranda realizes that he has shaved his moustache off. He looks years younger.

"How are you so sure I won't get out of this car right now?" she asks him in a challenging voice.

John shares a look with Red before he turns to look at her, "Because you've already decided to help me."

"I have?"

John chuckles and reaches down to grasp her foot. She lets him and he pulls it on his lap before he removes her heel and starts rubbing the sore bone.

"Doll, I knew you'd agree since the day I met you. Oh and by the way," he reaches towards the front seat and grabs something from under it.

Miranda's eyes widen as he waves a file at her, "You want this?" he asks her inquisitively and she gulps.

"You stole the file."

"Not me per say…" he says and as she reaches out to take it he pulls it back from her grip, "I'll keep it safe as long as you help me outsmart the cops, darlin'. Fair deal, yes?" he folds the file and then pushes it into his inner coat pocket while she stares at him.

Miranda swallows hard and then looks at him in the eye, "Fine. I'll help you. But you won't ever mention what is in that file. My past is none of your damn business, is that clear?" she asks in a hoarse voice and John looks at her for a long time before he nods.

"Fair enough."

"And once you've gotten what you want, you'll give it back." She clarifies and he nods, a smirk playing upon his lips.

"Deal, sweet pie."

"So," she starts as she pulls her foot from his lap and sits back against the car door, "What do you want from me?" she asks in a strong voice.

John perks up and turns to face her, "How close to your father can you bear to be?" he asks her seriously and Miranda knows that she's in trouble. Big trouble.

**End of chapter 2**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! Please review before you go.**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :o)**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello? Remember me? I am not dead! Ahem, I am back with a new chapter and I have decided on shorter chapters for this until I am back on track…I will not abandon this story though. That's a promise, my lovelies! **

**So, I want to thank: guest, Bonnie Parker, Hello Bruiser, TinkerbellxO, Newland Archer, dionne dance, ForeverACharmedOne, xoangelwingxo, lottielovebuzz, Leyshla Gisel and LabyFan23. You are all awesome!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

'_**The urge to save humanity is almost always a false front for the urge to rule.'**_

_**~H. L. Mencken **_

The cab stops right outside the large apartment building in Michigan Avenue. Miranda hesitates in the backseat, her hands clutching tightly at her purse. Her palms are sweating and her feet are numb. She can barely feel her toes inside her heels.

"That's it, right?" The cab driver's voice is impatient and she blinks, turning her attention towards the man.

She blinks and quickly reaches for her wallet before she pauses. "It's here…Um, it won't take long…Can you wait?" She looks at him and he blinks back at her almost boringly before he finally nods.

"Sure. I'll just wait here, but it's gonna cost you double."

Miranda thrusts her wallet back in her bag and mutters a hasty _thank you_ before she pushes the door open and gets out of the car. Her eyes slide over the grand building and when a car drives swiftly past her with speed she gasps and hastily slams the cab door shut.

Smoothing a hand down her skirt, she looks up and down the busy street and then heads for the entrance. It is evening and it will be dark soon and she just wants to get it over with soon.

Her feet guide her to the third floor and as soon as she is there, her first instinct is to turn around and leave, but she doesn't. Instead, she walks steadily towards the door and knocks, not bothering to use her key.

It takes him a few moments, but he opens the door at last. He seems surprised to see her there and she averts her eyes.

"Miranda?" His brow is knitted together in confusion as he regards her carefully. He is still in his formal clothes.

"I have come to pick up the books I forgot when I moved out." Her words are quiet, reserved and when he stands aside to let her pass and waves a hand sharply towards the hall she flinches at the abrupt movement.

"You could have used your key." He mutters as she takes a deep breath and steps forward, each step making her feel breathless and dizzy.

"No, I couldn't." She shakes her head and the loud closing of the door behind her causes her to flinch.

The living room is the same and the coffee table in the middle is covered with files and paperwork.

"I will bring you the box then." Her father's voice is hoarse and it resembles a growl more than anything else, but she nods nonetheless.

His footsteps fade away as he disappears down the hall and into her old room and she takes a moment to look around. Her mother's paintings are all gone from the walls and in their place there are photos of her father and his work colleagues. The curtains are a dull white and so in contrast with her mother's vivacious style. The couch and armchairs are the same, but the place looks more like an agent's office than a house, a _home_.

She notices with mild surprise that the old liquor cabinet is empty apart from a single bottle of white wine; her father's favorite.

Shivering at the onslaught of memories and no longer discerning the good ones from the bad ones, she turns around. Her eyes fall on the coffee table where an empty plate is lying among a sea of papers.

Before she has the time to lean over and see better, her father storms into the living room with a box of her books in his hands. He stops when he notices her standing so close to his paperwork and blinks.

"It's all here, I think." He murmurs gruffly and gently places the box on a chair. He wipes his hands against his pants and gazes at her.

"Coffee?" He suggests rather reluctantly and Miranda has a mind to turn on her heel and flee the house, but she doesn't. She cannot run forever.

"Alright." She nods her head and he looks mildly surprised before he blinks and walks away to bring the coffee.

Placing her purse on the dark red couch, she takes a tentative seat and places her hands on her lap. Her blue eyes scan the files and she reaches out with her hand to touch some papers. Her fingertips disturb them and she can see the edges of various photographs peeking from beneath.

Curious, she pushes the papers away and frowns. She recognizes the first two photos and her throat goes dry.

Dillinger and his friend. Beneath them there are more pictures of men, Nelson included, and right under those there is…

Miranda drops the pictures and covers her mouth with her shaking hand. The picture is that of a blonde woman…Her face is unrecognizable. Of course it is. It's filled with cuts and bruises. Her eye is swollen and black and her lip is split.

"What are you looking at-…Oh."

She looks up as her father walks in with two cups of steaming coffee.

"What's this?" she breathes in shock and he grimaces.

"It's business."

"Business?" She gapes at him as he places a cup on the table in front of her, right on top of Dillinger's photograph.

"Yes, business." He sits down next to her, but not too close because she is already flinching up at his close proximity.

"Since when the Bureau gets paid to assault people?" she whispers because the photograph is enough proof.

Her father shakes his head, "How young and foolish you are. She's just a whore."

Miranda is shocked, "_Just a whore?_ That doesn't give you the right to hurt her!"

He only takes a sip from his coffee, calmly and leisurely. "The people are sick of all these robberies. We must protect them. It's our job. Do you know what kind of damage his _heroics_ cause to our economy?" he spits out and Miranda's nostrils flare and for a moment she forgets her fear.

"Our economy? Our economy is already damaged! Have you seen the people-…"

"It's just my job, Miranda. You should worry about yourself." His eyes fall on her as he takes another long sip, "You have no job thanks to Dillinger. I was told he grabbed you as well. I see you managed to escape unharmed."

_As if you care, you bastard._

"Obviously."

"How is he like? Did he say anything? The officers told me what you said." His dark eyes are narrowed and staring right into her, searching for any sign of dishonesty.

"He…he didn't speak to me. He just let me a few streets down. I was of no use." She replies calmly as her eyes flicker towards the pictures again. The woman's beaten face is mocking her.

"Did you get the numbers?" He's referring to the car and she simply shakes her head.

"Damn." He hisses and Miranda looks at him.

"You don't believe the officers? Why? Because they are somehow beyond you?" She can't help but include sharpness in her voice and he tenses up.

"You're being ridiculous." He dismisses her with a few simple words, but her eyes are back on the woman on the picture.

"Who is she?" she asks, motioning towards the photograph and he spares a glance at the picture before he responds.

"Like I said, she's one of the girls that were working at a brothel. We raided the place because we were suspicious… We caught her and a few others as well."

"Why? Is the place a hide out for Dillinger and his boys?"

"That's what we're trying to find out." He turns to look at her, "We found no one at the brothel, but we think that they managed to escape before we arrived. They will come back though. They will think that we won't barge in again since we released most of the women…Except from her."

"You're having the place under surveillance?" She presses and he nods before he catches himself and looks at her funnily.

"Why the sudden interest? You _hate_ my job." He eyes her with suspicion and she tenses up.

"Just curious why she ended up like this." She waves her hand towards the pictures, "I wonder what you thought you'd learn from her. She's just a girl."

"A girl with dangerous friends."

Miranda licks her lips and abruptly reaches for the cup of coffee, taking a huge sip, almost finishing the thing in one go.

Her father eyes her with surprise. "Why are you here, Miranda? Did the doctor ask you to come and reconcile with me?" he asks her quietly and if she wasn't so sure that he didn't care she'd suspect that there is a tone of hope in his voice.

"Who said anything about wanting to reconcile with you?" She deadpans with a hard stare and he looks at her for a few seconds, watching her, studying her until he reaches out to touch her cheek.

Miranda leaps up from the couch, almost knocking the table over and her father freezes at the unexpected movement.

Miranda notices his shock and slowly shakes her head, "You should have known not to touch me…Dad." She chokes out as she starts to hyperventilate.

Her father drops his hand onto his lap and looks down at his feet, carefully placing his cup on the coffee table.

"Miranda…I am sorry for-…"

"I need to go." She cuts him off suddenly, "But before I go, I want you to give me the number of the person you sold my mother's paintings to. I want to get them back." She looks up at him and he seems lost.

"Miranda, I didn't sell them." He mutters and she blinks in surprise.

"No?"

"They are in her room. All her things are…in there. I sleep in your room." He rubs a hand over his face as Miranda stares at him.

"A bit perverse, isn't it, Dad? You have good memories in there?" Her voice is cold and so detached that if her psychologist was here he would be proud of her.

He looks up at that, "You know that's not true-…"

"Either way, I want them in my house. I see you have no use for them." She gestures towards the walls and he sighs, his head falling forward in resignation.

"Of course." He looks up, "But you must do something about your situation. You need a new placement-…"

"I've got it all covered. I can even buy the paintings from you." Once again she stops his speech because she has no use of his false words and sentiments. They can do nothing to her damaged soul.

"You're being ridiculous again." He hisses with exasperation and she sends him a bitter smile.

"I am rather ridiculous when I stand for this. My box?" She gestures next to him and he turns to the other side.

Miranda acts quickly, and leans down, snatching one of the woman's pictures and sliding it quickly in her pocket. When he turns back to her with the box, she quickly takes it from him and heads to the door.

"I have gotten rid of all the liquor." His voice makes halt at the hallway and she blinks back traitorous tears. It's like _that_ can make everything better.

"But not the wine. Your latest mistress has a flair for it?" She turns to look at him from over her shoulder, "I suppose she doesn't know what the mighty Agent Crowley has done…I pray that she finds out soon or else she might end up in the hospital…Like so many others. I'll be back for the paintings."

With that, she opens the door and slams it shut on her way out, leaving him to stare after her with narrowed eyes and balled fists.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The heels are killing her and so, as soon as she enters the bar she removes them with a sigh. The box is still clutched in her arms and she has a difficult time in her attempt to pick up her shoes from the ground.

Jackson from behind the counter grins when he sees her and she rolls her eyes at him as she slowly makes her way to the bar.

"Got a tiny gift." She slams the box on the counter and the man sitting on the stool slowly turns towards her, his brow furrowed at her ruffled state.

"Doll?" The drawl is smooth and surprised as she slips her hand in her pocket and pulls out the picture. Reaching over, she places it upon his newspaper and leans against the counter.

"You know her?" She asks and John narrows his eyes as he gazes at the nearly mutilated face looking back at him from the smooth paper.

"Where did you get this?" He mutters with wonder but he doesn't seem surprised at the sight of the woman. Miranda taps her fingers on the counter before she fixes him with a stare.

"You know where. You sent me there, didn't you? He had it along with some of your own."

John smirks and pushes the picture in the inner pocket of his expensive jacket. "You should have brought some of those as well." He tells her as he reaches over and grabs his glass of whiskey.

"Why?" She is for a moment distracted by his profile and when he turns and locks eyes with her while looking at her from over the rim of his almost empty glass, she flushes and blinks to clear her head.

_Odd._

"I am thinking of handing out autographs for my fans. They're getting more by the day." He winks and she shakes her head at him.

"You ought to be more serious when it comes to your life…_Johnny_." She breathes the pet name before she grabs her shoes and points one at the barman, "I'm not late tonight, yes?"

At his chuckle she smiles thinly and steps back, "I want my file back." She murmurs in Dillinger's ear and his lips turn upwards at the corners.

"How about you pour me another drink and I'll think about it…_Mira-doll_." He pushes his empty glass towards her and Jackson moves, ready to refill it, but John doesn't allow him to. He cocks an eyebrow and tilts his head to the side as he gazes at Miranda with expectation.

"Well, doll?"

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to walk behind the counter, dropping her shoes on the floor while she tries to ignore how the men's eyes study her from the tables across the bar.

_Get over it._

She takes his glass and fills it with liquor before she pushes it towards him. "I suppose I must thank you for the job?" She asks sourly and he shrugs innocently as he brings the glass to his lips in an effort to hide his smirk.

"But I think it's only compensation really. You made me _lose_ my job." She jabbed a finger towards him as Jackson slid from behind the counter to hand out orders.

At John's snort she stiffens. "I didn't hear you apologize."

"Why should I? I did you a favor really." He leans across the counter and grins, "You might even get a man here." He winks and she tries hard not to react. The last thing she wants is to get involved with a drunkard... and a man in general.

He, of course, continues, "After all, I did nothing really. By the time I managed to have a little talk with the manager you already had him head over heels with that pretty face of yours, doll."

"He's vile." She mutters quietly and he chuckles.

"He covers me and my boys at a time when most refuse to do so." A sudden idea flashes across his face suddenly and he is on his feet, "Which reminds me that I must make a phone call." He slides smoothly off the stool and gently taps his hand against his pocket.

Miranda realizes that he's talking about the girl in the picture and gives a tiny nod as more orders are handed to her from Jackson.

John lingers and when a man requests for a beer he leans over the counter to speak into her ear.

"I'll take you home." He murmurs and she is already shaking her head.

"I just got here."

John smirks and steps back, his hands up in the air, "When your shift's done, I'll be here." With that he turns and walks away.

Miranda blinks and with a frown she sets down to do her new job. Like her doctor said, it's the best therapy ever. But as Miranda looks up at the new patrons who are studying her with interest, she comes to the alarming conclusion that for once Dr. Roberts is probably wrong. Very wrong...

**End of chapter 3**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! For anyone still here; comments please? I will try to update sooner, much sooner next time! Promise!**

**Until then, dears!**

**Xxx Lina :o)**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, lovelies! Welcome back! See? I didn't take that long with this update!**

**I want to thank: TinkerbellxO, guest, Newland Archer, xoangelwingxo, XantheXV, guest, LabyFan23, dionne dance, JoJo1812, ForeverACharmedOne, HelloBruiser and Leyshla Gisel. Thank you for sticking with me even after the long gap between updates!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_**Learning to trust is one of life's most difficult tasks.**_

_**~Isaac Watts**_

Miranda is gently tapping her fingers to the sound of the music, her eyes on the counter. She is trying hard to stifle a yawn and when a snicker from Jackson rings among the loudness of the music she looks up with narrowed eyes. Their eyes lock, blue with gray clash and she looks at him questionably. His dirty blond hair is falling in front of his face and his handsome features are amused. As they stare at each other she comes to the sudden realization that most women are leaning over the counter for the mere purpose of being close to him and she smiles inwardly at that.

_Of course._

Her thoughts are probably showing on her face and at her odd expression, he snorts and passes her a glass of whiskey which she refuses by pushing it back towards him. All she wants is to go to bed. Her feet are killing her even without her heels.

Jackson grins, "I am wounded. If you refuse again I'll have to think that you don't like me." He grabs the glass and finishes it in one go, sending her a wink and she sits up straight at that.

"I don't like blonds, Jack. That's all." She says with a sheepish smile and his eyes widen for a moment before he bursts into laughter.

"I have figured that out…" He looks at her with slightly narrowed eyes and she frowns at that. Before she can speak, he continues.

"And that's probably the first personal thing you have revealed while being here." He points a finger at her and she clears her throat to hide her embarrassment.

She is saved by the gang of customers that arrive at the bar, asking for cocktails.

She leans towards the bottles, but he holds a hand up. "Your shift's over." His eyes flicker behind her, over her shoulder and he smirks, "Your ride is here anyway, sweet pie." He sends another suggestive wink and Miranda is ready to tell him off, but the loud squealing of tires cuts her off.

Turning around, her eyes fall on the piece of road that is visible through the wide open door. A black Essex stops in front of the curb and Dillinger steps out of it, alone, shutting the door loudly before he storms into the bar like he owns it…Which he probably does if he can come and go into the establishment so carelessly.

Miranda is shocked by his confidence. Most men of his…_occupation_ would have been hiding into tiny apartment holes and abandoned buildings, but not him. He has no trouble mingling with the crowd and that's probably why he hasn't been caught yet. He is good at hiding among them.

"Nice car." Jackson calls as soon as Dillinger is close enough and the robber has the audacity to smirk.

"Thanks." He slides smoothly onto a stool and then his eyes are on Miranda, "Hey, doll. How's it going?" He grins and she blinks, looking form him to the car and back again.

"That's new." She blurts out and his grin widens as he nods.

"Yeah…Got a problem with that?" He narrows his eyes and she is surprised when she sees the playful spark in them. She is still not familiar with people like him; people who actually live life instead of dreading it…People…people so unlike her.

She clears her throat, "No. Of course I don't." She slides back into her shoes which she had kicked off at some point and looks up at him.

He is studying her carefully, smirk still in place. "Yeah, I figured that if I'm going to use a car to give rides to broads like you, I'd have to change my vehicle into a proper one."

She almost chokes on her own saliva and he snickers as she sputters.

"_Broads?_ That's not even a word." She says at last and he snorts.

"Well, excuse me for not being a college man." He narrows his eyes in what she identifies as mild offence and she raises her hands up in surrender.

"Alright, alright."

He taps his hand against the counter and then eyes the bottles of whiskey behind her.

"Why don't I buy you a drink?" He stands up from the stool and looks at her expectantly.

"I don't want a drink. I want to sleep…Something that I can see you don't." She eyes his obviously sober face before she sighs, "I'll get you a glass then." She turns towards the liquor and reaches for a glass.

She is clumsy with opening the bottle and the laughter comes again.

"Why don't you bring the whole bottle, doll? And two glasses." His voice is amused and she turns to look at him from over her shoulder.

"You got company?" She calls, raising her voice to be heard from over the jazz and he smirks.

"Yeah, you. I'll be right there." He points towards a booth at the back and then he's gone.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Jackson makes love eyes at you."

She looks up from her barely touched shot of whiskey and blinks.

"What?"

John takes a sip and points towards the bar, "The barman." He clarifies and she snorts.

"Now I _am_ going to drink." She grabs the glass and takes a sip, wincing as the strong beverage slides down her throat.

"How long will this go on for?" He tilts his head to the side and regards her cautiously.

Miranda frowns, "I don't understand."

"Well, baby-doll, you surely know your economics," He smirks at her perplexed look, but he continues, "But you don't know a thing about tending bar." He finishes and she rubs the back of her neck nervously.

"That's barely an insult." She remarks and he shrugs.

"Never meant it as one. So, have you always been this clumsy?" He asks as he takes a gulp from his drink, probably to hide his grin.

Miranda runs a hand over her face slowly, "What do you want?"

He pauses, "What I want?"

"Yes. This small talk has a purpose, doesn't it?" She drops her hand and he hesitates, his eyes wrinkling at the corners at her blatant words.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I do get tired of silent rides." He places the glass on the table and leans forward, his face half shadowed by the dividing wall, "What about you?"

"I have always treasured silence." She informs him as she leans back.

"It ain't fair, lady. You know all about me, I know nothing about you." He leans back in his chair, his crooked smirk in place.

"I think you know more than anyone, John." She purses her lips in a disapproving curve, "You still got my file."

"Back to that, are we? So, alright, yeah. I got a medical file with a load of bull that I don't even understand." He pauses, "All that dizzying words about melancholia, depression and child trauma are very glamorous, but it doesn't say a thing about you, doll. I got nothing on you apart from your dad's doomed destiny." He brushes his lower lip with his thumb and she fidgets nervously in her seat.

"There are things that are better left unspoken." She murmurs.

"Like what? Rape?" He deadpans and Miranda shots up in her seat, sending it back on the floor with a thud.

"Alright, look. The only reason why I accept your questioning is because it will give me great pleasure to see Crowley knocked off his high throne. A throne that he doesn't deserve, if you ask me. If you want us to get along you must refrain from speaking to me about things you don't know." Her voice is uncharacteristically low and she turns around before she can see his reaction.

"My dad beat me when I was a boy so I know all about traumas and untold stories, Mira. _Sit. Down_." His voice causes her to freeze and she swallows thickly, keeping her back to him until she feels ridiculous standing there.

When she turns around, she finds him staring at her, his brow furrowed. She resumes her seat and folds her hands upon the table.

"I won't tell you about it if that's what you're expecting." She mutters as she looks up at him.

"I ain't expecting anything, doll. I am trying to loosen you up around me. You're a tad tight." He smirks and she flushes.

"Was that an innuendo?" She cocks an eyebrow and he mirrors her expression.

"Would you have liked it to be?" He answers her question with one of his own and she laughs.

He smiles.

"So, you don't know all about me after all, do you?" He murmurs thoughtfully and when she shakes her head he nods, "My girlfriend's in prison." He states out of the blue and she pauses, her shoulders tensing.

"Oh."

"She ain't no criminal."

Miranda smiles, "Well, what did she do then?"

"What do you think she did?"

"Associated herself with you…Probably harbored you…Exactly what I am doing as well, don't you think?" She tilts her head to the side and his grin is feral.

"Are you looking for a replacement, Mr. Dillinger?"

"Are you looking to be one, Ms. Crowley?" His raised eyebrow is provoking and she shakes her head.

"Not really. So, tell me what you want from me." She goes straight to the main topic and John frowns a little at that, seemingly surprised at the quick change of subject.

Leaning forward, he allows his eyes to roam her face; from her pale skin, naturally pink lips and all the way to her blue eyes. For a moment he remains silent and when he does speak his voice is… _odd. _Oddand heavy.

"You're beautiful."

The comment sets her off for some reason and she flinches, her eyes closing tightly.

"That's irrelevant." Her voice is choked.

"No, it's not." He smirks a little and she doesn't open her eyes, "I have a feeling that no one has ever told you that before. I figured I might as well say it."

Miranda shivers, but not from the compliment. It doesn't bring her joy, nor does it make her flush prettily like he most probably expected it would.

Instead, bile rises in her throat as the words echo in her mind and she quickly shakes her head.

_Daddy's girl is so beautiful…Just like her…You're so beautiful._

"Am I right?" His tone betrays the fact that he is ignorant of her inner turmoil and when she opens her eyes he freezes.

"No, you're not." She places her hand over her mouth and his eyes widen when her face goes even paler, almost ashen.

"Doll?" He sits up straighter in his chair, hand outstretched to touch her or shake her even, but Miranda doesn't wait. In a flash she is up from her seat, her hand still over her mouth. She disappears in the toilets in a blur of dark hair.

When she slips into a booth, she slams the door shut and then promptly empties the contents of her stomach in the toilet. Unlike other times, tears don't roll down her cheeks.

_You're beautiful._

Such pretty words; such _innocent_ words. Miranda loathes the sound of them.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The wind is cooling her flushed face and she leans towards the open window as John sits in the Essex's driver's seat. The night is very dark and cloudy as he drives through the roads of Chicago with a slowness that is so unlike him. Usually he can't pull his foot off the gas petal, but not tonight.

Miranda swallows hard at the thick atmosphere of silence, hesitance and guilt that is vibrating in the space between them at the moment. Her mouth still tastes bitter after her breakdown in the bar's bathroom and she wants to gag at her own weakness. She had thought that those days were past her…She had thought she was doing so good in forgetting that night, but apparently she had been wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she turns to face the man next to her. His eyes are staring hard at the road ahead, but his hands are gripping the driving wheel too tightly, his knuckles white and she licks her dry lips before she speaks.

"I am seeing him again tomorrow." Her sentence is followed by the screeching of tires as John brings the car to a stop under the traffic lights.

He shifts upon the seat and licks his shapely mouth before he shots her a quick sideways glance.

"So soon? What for?" His tone is cool and reserved and she frowns.

"What for? I thought you wanted me to go back there as often as I could."

"What for?" He repeats the question and her nostrils flare.

"I need to get some of my mother's things…"

John drives off as soon as the green light is on and then he flexes his shoulders in an effort to relieve some of the tension.

"I'll take you."

Miranda turns and looks at him so sharply that her tendons protest at the movement.

"What?" She whispers and he makes a turn for her street.

"I said I'll take you."

"To my father's house."

"Yeah."

"You're insane."

"Good."

"You're not coming with me. What if someone sees you?" She sputters and at last his smirk makes its appearance.

"And you'd care, right?" he murmurs and she averts her gaze abruptly, "Yes, you would." He laughs, breaking the sharp tension and ice between them just like that.

"You sound sure."

"Oh, but I am." He turns to look at her as she fiddles with her purse, "I am your only friend, am I not, doll?"

Miranda's eyes go wide and he brings the car to an abrupt halt a few cars from her house.

"Has anyone ever told you how arrogant you are?" She turns to face him and she is surprised when he grins at her.

"Oh yeah."

She groans and places her hand on the car door, ready to jump out, but his hand comes and falls on top of her other hand, pressing it sharply on her lap and immobilizing her.

She stiffens at the touch, but doesn't move.

"I want to know what happened to the girl." His voice is hoarse and dark and Miranda is momentarily confused.

"Girl?"

John turns his face and locks eyes with her, "Yeah. The girl on the picture." He murmurs as he looks down at their joined hands. She ignores it because she is not sure she understands.

"The girl…from the picture I brought you?" She asks and he nods.

"Yes."

"Um…Okay. I'll do my best. That's all?" Her eyes scan his profile and trail over his cheekbone and down his chin. She pauses.

"You've got a scar." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself and as soon as the words are spoken she flushes.

John turns towards her with a small frown and his free hand reaches up to scratch at the scar on his right cheek.

"Oh, this ol'thing?" He smirks a little and she blinks, "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like it was nothing."

"You noticed that now? After weeks?"

Miranda looks away, "I don't like to stare."

The fingertips that are holding hers captive brush over her knuckles at that.

""Cause you don't like to be stared at. Yeah, I have gotten that into my thick skull already, but it's unavoidable." He laughs a little and with a last squeeze he lets go of her hand.

Miranda flexes her fingers a little and then shrugs.

"Look, doll." He turns to face her fully on the seat and she looks at him expectantly, "I'm sorry about before, eh? I have a big mouth and all I can offer is this." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of gum.

Miranda looks at it and then starts laughing, covering her mouth with her hand as she looks into his sparkling eyes. He watches amused as she chuckles and when she accepts the gum and pops it in her mouth he grins.

"Pals?" He reaches out and offers her his hand.

She stops laughing and with a small shake of her head, she closes her slender fingers around his hand. His long fingers curl around hers tightly and he quickly brings her hand to his lips. He presses a kiss and with a last squeeze he releases it.

She sobers up and with a firm nod she opens the car door, "Thanks for the ride." She whispers and he smirks crookedly.

"No problem, baby-doll." He watches as she closes the door and then leans towards the open window of the passenger's seat, "What time tomorrow?" he asks and she sighs gently.

"Six in the afternoon." She replies hesitantly and he nods.

"Okey dokey." He starts the car, but Miranda leans over the window and he pauses, his eyes expectant, "Doll?"

"And don't park near my house again. Use the next block instead. Christ, you gangsters can be pretty dumb." She smirks as he gapes at her and then laughs, "Goodnight, Johnny." She pats the car window and then she is gone.

John stares after her and then slowly puts the car in reverse, breaking into an amused smile as he drives down the street.

**End of chapter 4**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading. This might seem **_**filer-ish**_**, but we need character development, people. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Want more soon? Well, see that box underneath? Go and type me a smiley face or something. All is accepted!**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina ;o)**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! Sorry for the delay! I want to thank: BellainWonderland, whatcatydidnext, Newland Archer, guest, XantheXV, xoangelwingxo, LabyFan23, HelloBruiser, ForeverACharmedOne, Leyshla Gisel, dionne dance, JoJo1812 and TinkerbellxO. Thanks for all the support!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

'_**My darling, you're such a child. You think that by saying 'I'm sorry', all the past can be corrected.'**_

_**~Rhett Butler, Gone with the Wind (1939)**_

Before Miranda can blink, he is gone along with the car. She turns in a circle, her eyes searching the road, but nothing. Raising an eyebrow in wonder, she shakes her head, reminding herself that she ought to be back in less than an hour. She should take the street that leads to the block behind her father's apartment and she should do it carefully.

With that thought, she takes a few measured footsteps towards the building. This time she doesn't hesitate to enter. She just wants to get it over with. She takes the stairs and before she knows it, she is standing in front of her father's door. She knocks once, but he doesn't answer immediately. Just as she is ready to knock again, the door is opened by a woman.

Miranda staggers for a moment. The woman is a tall curvy blonde, dressed in a long robe that is brushing her manicured feet. For a moment she doesn't know what to say and the woman seems to have the same reaction. They stand, staring at each other until the blonde shakes her head, clears her throat and smiles.

"I'm sorry. You must be Miranda. Henry's daughter." She states with a heavy accent before she outstretches her hand which is composed of elegant fingers and blood red fingernails.

Miranda shakes her hand briefly out of politeness, but she takes her hand back as soon as she can. She was the urge to flee at once. The last thing she needs is to be faced with her father _and_ his lover.

"I am…"

"My name's Suzan Delmont." The blonde continues to smile prettily and then she gasps, "Oh my! Please do come in. How silly of me." She stands aside and Miranda reluctantly walks in. Suzan closes the door behind her and just then her father makes his appearance, looking sleepy.

As soon as he sees her, he pauses and his eyes widen, "It's today! I forgot. Come in…" His eyes are darting between Suzan and his daughter and Miranda can see that he actually looks embarrassed.

She wants to snort and mock him. He has done worse things than having a mistress. He has dug a thorn in his daughter's heart forever, but of course that's in the past. Doctors and therapists have said that time and time again, but Miranda doesn't feel any better. Instead of the hate and anger to recede, she can feel both emotions bubbling to the surface every time she sees the man who supposedly gave her life.

"I won't be long. I came for the paintings." She mutters and he nods his head, but Suzan finds the need to speak up.

"About that." She starts shyly, "I have seen the paintings and I was wondering-…"

"Suzan." Her father's voice is a warning, but the blonde doesn't pay him any heed.

"I was wondering if we could keep one. Your mother was a great artist." She finishes and her father winces.

Miranda's nostrils flare, but instead of an answer she looks at her father once before she brushes past him.

"Can we speak in private?" She calls on her way to the kitchen.

As she walks away, she can hear their hushed voices and she feels triumphant when she hears the chastisement in her father's voice. She has obviously ruined his day. Excellent.

It doesn't take him long to follow her into the room. He has always been crisp and abrupt in his affairs. He has the tendency to forget easily too. His life is probably like a novel written in pencil in his mind; easily erased if the author so desires it. Miranda's life is carved on her heart though; and it is still bleeding.

"You wanted to speak?"

Miranda whirls around to face him and she notices that he looks much more sober than he did a few moments ago. She has shattered his little fairytale.

"I will ignore what that woman said to me-…"

"Her name's Suzan." He cuts her off and she blinks.

"And you care how your daughter addresses your mistress?"

"Yes." The answer is clipped, almost reluctant.

"Doctor's orders."

"Miranda…"

"Fine. I will ignore what Ms. Delmont said. I just need my paintings."

Henry hesitates and nods, "They are behind the couch in the living room.

She nods and she tries to find a way to break the other subject in.

He speaks first though, "Where are you working?"

The question causes her to inhale sharply. Dear God! Now what?

"Why do you ask?"

"I am simply curious…and a little bit concerned." He admits as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Concerned?" She cocks an eyebrow, her tone mocking.

"Miranda, lose that tone with me! I am trying here!"

"For what exactly?"

"To make things better."

She snorts, "Tough luck. I don't trust you and I never will." She takes a step back when he comes closer.

"Mira, you-…"

"Don't call me that." She shakes her head and he takes a deep breath.

"I can arrange something…Have you work in one of the offices at the Bureau. You have the qualifications for-…"

"No, thank you." Her tone is cutting, "I have work."

"Where? I know you work during the night! At this time? Nothing, but criminals out there-…"

"That's a bit hypocritical of you, isn't it?" Her voice is loud, "I know all about criminals." She hisses before she starts for the living room.

She pauses before she steps into the hall, "How is the research going?" She pretends to be interested as she looks at him from over her shoulder. He seems surprised by her concern and for a moment he is speechless.

"Um…good. We're finally getting somewhere."

His reply doesn't sit very well with Miranda. What does that mean?

"Meaning?" She tries to make the query nonchalant. It seems that she is successful because he replies immediately.

"Meaning that we're close to Dillinger and his boys." Her father pauses to smirk, "And all because of the brothel girl. Who knew she could be so useful?"

She grabs at the opportunity, "How is she? Has she gotten another black eye?"

Henry has the nerve to snicker, "Honey, where she is she has no need for eyes."

His reply freezes her like a winter's wind, "I'm sorry?"

"They found her dead in her cell. Supposedly she killed herself, but I doubt it. Someone thought her too pretty me thinks."

Miranda swallows hard once, twice, three times before she nods her head severely.

"You seem proud." She eyes him with cruel honesty, "You should be ashamed." She mutters before she turns around and walks out of the kitchen.

She heads for the couch and picks up the three paintings before she makes her way to the door.

"Won't you stay for coffee!?" Suzan abandons the paper and stands up, her robe swooshing as she moves, "I have warm coffee-…"

"Good evening." Miranda slams the door shut on her way out and prays to God that she won't ever have to step foot in that house ever again. Little does she know that her wish is going to come true.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"What's with the hat?" She is breathless by the time she gets into the car and closes the door. The paintings are sitting snugly upon the back seat.

"What do you think, doll?" He smirks a little as he tips his hat at her, "I'm an outlaw, a criminal. I need to be inconspicuous." He informs her as he glances at the road once.

"How is the large fedora hat inconspicuous?" She asks as she tries to ignore the last half hour she spent in the snake pit.

He pauses and turns to look at her with wide eyes and a pursed mouth.

"You're insulting my hat, ain't you?" he mutters, "Good thing I like you, doll." He puts the car into gear and Miranda sighs inaudibly with barely contained relief. The relief is soon crushed because she is suddenly reminded of what she has just found out. She doesn't speak immediately and John finally turns to look at her.

"So, how was daddy?" he asks lightly and she tenses up.

"Fine…"

"Oh boy…" He snickers a little, "You didn't beat him up, did ya?" he glances at her briefly, "Not that I would judge much." He adds when he notices her sour look.

"He's intact." She mutters.

"But?" he utters the word with impatience.

"I have a question." She turns upon the seat so she is facing him, "Why do you ask?"

"Why do I ask?" His grin is crooked as he stops at the traffic lights.

"Yes."

"Well," he draws the word out and then lets out a small chuckle, "Since you're doing this load of work for me-…"

"It's not that difficult. I haven't given you anything big to work with."

"Really? The way I see it, if you hadn't told me about the girl, my gang would have done something stupid as to return there."

She notices that he is tapping his fingers against the driving wheel.

"No one is that much of an idiot."

He barks out a laugh, "Then your experience with hungry men is limited."

"Hungry for-…"

He fixes her with a stare, "Certainly not for food, darlin'." He winks and she clears her throat.

"Charming."

"It is. Could be worse."

"What could be worse?"

He clicks his tongue, "My boys have manners…They are handpicked." He checks the rear-view mirror.

"Handpicked…" She frowns.

"Hmm." He presses on the gas pedal and the car accelerates, "I have no need for petulant children in my company."

"You're referring to Nelson." She points out and he seems a little surprised.

"Now, you've done your homework or what?"

"Please, John."

He smirks at the use of his name, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"It was all over the news."

"We're popular."

"Or wanted." She snorts and he hisses as if wounded.

"Then you should be more careful of the company you keep, eh?" He chirps in and she looks away.

"Tell me something I don't know." She mutters and he shakes his head in amusement.

"I like you, doll. You're awfully honest. Now tell me what daddy did and caused such a fierce rash upon your otherwise lovely face."

Miranda cocks an eyebrow without looking at him, "Was that a compliment?" she murmurs.

"If you leave out the rash, then yeah. Sure." He shrugs.

"Nothing…Got the paintings…Met his friend-…"

"Friend? _Lady friend?_"

She leans back in the seat and John looks at her sideways, "How come daddy has a lady friend and you don't?"

"You're asking me why I don't have a lady friend?"

He laughs, "You know what I mean."

"The truth?"

"Nothing but that." He nods confidently.

"I don't like men."

His eyebrows reach his hairline at the comment.

"Easy there, doll…Is there something I don't know, about ya?" He looks at her, fighting the urge to laugh when she seems confused.

"What?"

"I mean…You swing _that_ way?" His eyes do a quick perusal of her body and he hisses as if in pain, "Pity…Can I have a peek in that secret life of yours sometime?"

Miranda's eyes go wide, "Will you stop that? You know that is not what I meant." She has the urge to slap his arm, but she doesn't.

"What I insinuated seems more optimistic to me." He points out with a cocked eyebrow, "The alternative, what you said, seems a little…far stretched."

"Why? Because you don't understand it?" She snaps and he raises a hand in surrender.

"Maybe…"

"Then you better not talk about it, yes?"

He nods, "Fair enough." His mouth is still twitching though, "Now, what have you got for me?"

Miranda sighed, "He dropped a few hints about getting closer to catching you." She looked at him, "I didn't push the subject because he started questioning me about my job. I wouldn't be surprised if he had me followed in order to find out what I am up to."

"I don't think he would."

"Why do you say that?"

He turns and locks eyes with her, "That wouldn't put him in your good books now, would it?" He is gazing at her with incredulity.

"No…but he's done worse things than have me followed."

He doesn't speak for a moment and she turns towards him.

"What about the girl?" His voice is quiet and she hesitates.

"Um…She's dead. That's what he told me at least." She mutters and she is surprised when he takes the road that leads to her apartment. She doesn't speak though.

"Any chance that he might be lying?" He inquires softly and she simply shakes her head.

"Right." He mutters before he reaches up and removes the hat, throwing it to the back with an abrupt movement. Miranda is startled by the subtle show of displeasure, but she doesn't comment on it. She only takes the time to wonder what kind of relationship he had with the girl…And if there was _some_ sort of bonding what is going on with his incarcerated girlfriend then?

"You know my house." She says instead as he parks the car a few feet away from her building.

"Yeah." He is already getting out of the car, closing the door behind him and she hurries to get out of the vehicle as well.

Without asking for permission, he grabs the paintings and places them up against the car so he can lock it.

"Coming?" he calls over his shoulder as he picks up the frames and makes his way for her door.

Miranda follows him with puzzlement written all over her face.

When they enter her house, he deposits the paintings on a chair and then his dark eyes scan the relatively small living room area.

Miranda takes off her coat and nervously tugs at her skirt and shirt. When he is done with his investigation, he smiles.

"Nice little place you got here, doll. Cozy."

"Thanks…It's not completely furnished yet…" she pauses and then gestures towards the kitchen area, "Coffee?"

"Nah. I've got to get going." He shakes his head and twirls the car keys around his finger before he winks.

"Thanks for the trouble, sweet. Here." He slips his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a yellow file.

"Catch." He throws it her way and she catches it in time, "Told ya I'd give it back, didn't I?"

Faintly, she nods, but she is confused, "So soon?"

"You wanted me to keep it longer?" He raises an eyebrow in question.

"No!" She shakes her head, "Thanks."

He shrugs his shoulders and adjusts his belt before he replies, "I give something, you give something and all that." He smirks, "Have a good night's sleep."

He smoothes down his coat, but Miranda is standing stock still because she has noticed the handgun that is tucked into his belt.

"Doll? You're alright there?" He is frowning because he has most definitely noticed her vacant look.

"What?" She blinks, breaking out of her reverie and chooses to ignore the little voice in her head that tells her to get rid of him quickly. She has no reason not to trust him; especially now that he gave her back her file.

_Are you sure? He's a criminal._

_My own father is a criminal. So, shut up. _She replies to her own inner voice and she briefly wonders what kind of sane person does that…

"You…want me to stay?" He is quick to offer and she is a little bit surprised. He just said that he has somewhere to be.

She quickly shakes her head in the negative, "Sorry. Just tired…Thanks for the ride." She steps aside as he starts for the door.

"No problem…See you at Jackson's." His hand brushes her own as he leaves and an unfamiliar shiver causes her entire arm to tingle with electricity.

When the door closes behind him, she raises her hand and looks at it. Odd.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

_A few days later…_

"One of his friends is giving you the look, baby doll." Jackson's voice causes her to look up from the cupboard.

"What?"

"You know…The tall, brown haired one?" Jackson is smirking while pouring drinks and Miranda rolls her eyes.

"Red?" She quirks an eyebrow in question and he snickers.

"He's coming over." He mouths before he turns away. Miranda stands up, her cheeks bright red and proceeds to slip into her shoes.

"I have got orders to give you a twirl. May I?" The man asks once he is close enough and Miranda shoots a glance towards John who is talking with a woman.

"If you have orders that you cannot disobey…" She trails off and Hamilton smiles as he takes her hand and leads her among the swaying couples.

"You know the word _insistence_?" he asks and she nods, "Well," he points at Dillinger, "whole new meaning with that man."

"I have gathered as much…" Miranda mutters.

The hands on her waist feel alien resting there and she has the urge to simply leave, but she can see that is not an option. Last thing she needs is to insult any of these men John surrounds himself with. Yes, she still doesn't trust them. Not an easy thing to do when they carry guns around while stocking them to the bar's supply room.

"What's your story?" Red asks her, breaking her out of her thoughts and she blinks.

"Story?"

"Why is a nice gal like you working at a place like this?"

John hasn't told him…Good.

"No job is out of the question when you need to make ends meet." She responds quietly and he nods.

"Fair enough…"

Her eye catches sight of Dillinger and she pauses. He's heading to the back room.

Grabbing at her chance, she breaks free from Red's hold and smiles.

"Sorry. Got something to do. Why don't you get a drink? This one's from me."

She tries to make the blow less strong because she can see the way the man is eyeing her…She has no wish for such looks. Especially by a guy she barely knows.

"Sure…Thanks…" Red calls before she disappears.

Her feet take her to the back where boxes of liquor greet her.

"What are you doing?" she calls as John closes a box and pushes it behind a few that are already lined up by the wall.

"Peas in a pod, darlin'." He drawls as he stands up, "What are _you_ doing? I thought you were having fun out there."

"Yes, about that." She takes a step closer, "You need to stop pushing your friends towards me."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Please." She adds the last word and he smirks.

"Fine…How about a dance with me?"

"My shift's not over." She places her hands on her hips.

"I call it a night." He tells her and grabs her hand, boldly pulling her after him and onto the dance floor.

After the first few seconds she can't help it, "Your dancing is awful." She informs him and she is surprised when he laughs.

"Whilst yours isn't…Done ballet lessons, have ya?"

She snorts, "No." He twirls them around sharply and she shakes her head, "My mother was a dancer…She taught me everything she knew."

"Ah, dear ol' mom…" he gazes at her curiously, "Was she half as pretty?"

The question baffles Miranda and she chuckles, "My mother was perfect…Perfect." She whispers and John opens his mouth to speak, but someone claps him sharply on the shoulder. It's one of his men.

"Johnny, you've got to see this." The man is short and scrawny and Miranda frowns.

"What is it, Marty?"

"There are some pretty expensive cars parked right outside. Something smells funny." Marty replies and John releases Miranda from his hold and turns towards the other way, facing the door.

Miranda doesn't know how on earth bullets are suddenly flying towards them, breaking glasses, bottles and putting holes in chairs and tables as they go. The only thing she knows is that she somehow finds herself face to face with the dirty floor.

People's screams start breaking the storm of shots and someone is pushing her rather roughly towards the counter.

She can see Jackson dodging some bullets and when a hand tugs her behind the bar by her hair, she cries out.

"Don't move. _Jackson!_" John's voice is heavy in her ear and she looks up, only now realizing that the hand in her hair belongs to him. The fingers pull away from her strands and she gathers her knees close to her chest as she rests with her back on the counter. With wide eyes, she can hear frantic footsteps moving around and the clients' screams are still too loud as they storm out of the club. Combined with the sound of shots they create cacophony of sounds.

"What the fuck!" Jackson exclaims and Miranda nearly goes cross eyed when she sees him bearing a gun in his hand.

"Jackson!" she exclaims and John looks at her.

"Shut up, doll. And don't move." He hisses and then he is standing up. She watches as he focuses on his target and fires his gun. There is a surprised groan and then more bullets are falling across the bottles like rain. Miranda gasps when a bottle falls off and breaks into a million little pieces in front of her feet. She hisses and tries to move back, but more bottles and glasses start falling around the three of them like a storm.

"Red, to the back!" John's hiss is barely audible and Miranda doubts that anyone heard it, let alone Hamilton.

"How on earth did they find this place? Everything seemed legal!" Jackson is muttering and with a look at Miranda he is up as well, his gun trained to one of the agents.

"The one on the front." John's command is firm and quiet and Miranda looks up at him. With the hand still around his gun, John pushes her head back down with a grimace.

"_Down."_ His voice is followed by another shot and suddenly a smirk is on his face, "Doll, daddy is here." He whispers and Miranda scrambles onto her knees.

"What?!" she hisses, but he is already leaning down to dodge another bullet.

"Yeah…Time for me to take my leave, eh?" He nudges Jackson with his foot and the barman nods his head as he reloads his gun.

Time to take his leave? What about her? Her father will kill her if he sees her! Good Christ-…

"On three." Jackson whispers and John winks.

Miranda watches as Jackson lunges upwards again.

"Put that down, son!"

Miranda inhales sharply once she hears the voice and locks eyes with John's wicked gaze.

"Told ya." He mutters and leans up so suddenly that she stumbles backwards. His foot catches her thigh and she winces. That will bruise. He fires the gun once, twice, three times and then he is sprinting backwards.

"Now."

Jackson aims and pulls the trigger. A loud undignified yelp echoes in the now empty bar and Miranda flinches at the sound.

"One." Jackson murmurs and a hand finds its way around Miranda's arm.

Another shot resonates in the silence around them and the hand around her arm is hauling her upwards.

"Shoot, you idiots!" Her father's voice is pained and breathless and she briefly wonders why he has come here himself. Surely his presence wouldn't ensure success anyway.

"Two." Jackson mutters as he lurches to the right to escape another bullet that is driving fast towards his shoulder.

John's grip tightens around Miranda's arm and then his hand is on the back of her neck, pushing her directly towards their right, right where the back entrance is located.

"Three." Another gun is fired right next to her and she nearly stumbles when John's push sends her right on the floor.

"Move!"

"Miranda?" Henry's voice is shocked and dripping with disdain and she has just a second to look at his fallen form before she is roughly manhandled by John.

Looking away from her father's stormy eyes and choosing to ignore the betrayal in them, she scrambles forward as John pushes hard on her waist.

"Up, up!" John's voice is frantic as another round of bullets falls on the wall by their heads like comets. She manages to get onto her feet even as her legs sting from the nicks the bottles and glasses have left on her skin.

She can hear their combined footsteps as they pass through the supply room to get to the back entrance and she is actually shaking when John stops and tears open one of the boxes he had been fiddling with earlier. He pulls out two riffles and then he is striding towards her.

Thrusting one riffle in her hands, he pushes her towards the back door which is already open.

As soon as they get out, four agents are blocking their way…although they are all lying to the ground dead.

Miranda's lips quiver with shock, but someone is calling her name and pushing her towards the black Essex that is parked right in front of the door.

Once she is in the car, John throws the other riffle next to her and slams the door shut.

"Go." The single word is enough for Red to start the car and soon they are off, driving away from the bar and the fallen bodies of the Bureau agents.

The riffle falls onto the seat next to her with a thud and she looks up. What in hell? Did…did he just…? He just made her part of his gang. Dear Lord! He just …took her with him. He has just made her one of them; an outlaw, a criminal's accomplice. Her father just saw her leaving with the man he has made his purpose to catch and send to the electric chair.

"What did you do?" The words are out of her mouth without her consent and she is forced into submission when Dillinger turns and fixes her with a hard glare.

"I just saved your pretty ass, doll. So, why don't you just shut it and let me think?" His words leave no room for further comments and so she leans back and looks outside of the window. Her life has been ruined…Again.

**End of chapter 5**

**Author's note: Still here? Thank you for reading. I hope this chapter made up for the wait. Please, let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated…**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :o)**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Welcome back! Before we go on with the chapter I want to thank: Newland Archer, XantheXV, guest, ForeverACharmedOne, BelleinWonderland, LabyFan23, JoJo1812, HelloBruiser, TinkerbellxO, dionne dance and Leyshla Gisel. You are all wonderful!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_**I've always known myself. But he was the first to recognize me. And to love what he saw.**_

_**~Jane Eyre**_

Her tongue feels like sandpaper as soon as she regains her senses. Her head feels heavy and it is throbbing as she stirs. Her back aches from being huddled against the backseat for so long, but that is not why she is awake. The car has stopped moving and there is someone next to her while the rifles are gone from her side. She can feel a hand on her shoulder, shaking her firmly and she has no choice but to open her eyes. The first thing she realizes is that it is still dark. The second thing that slowly sinks in is that John has his hand on her shoulder, but his dark eyes are on the bare skin of her legs. Frowning, she sits up, causing his hand to slide down from her shoulder and right onto her lap, before she quietly follows his gaze. She cringes when she realizes that the cuts on her feet and calves have been left unattended. She can see the caked blood over the cuts and she can feel the sting of the glass.

"Where are we?" she speaks up and her throat feels even drier than she had originally thought.

John looks up and slowly removes his hand from her lap, causing her to jolt slightly. Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he takes a look around, "Not too far away from Chicago….Lake Michigan." He says simply and Miranda sits up further, her limbs protesting at the sudden movement.

"Michigan City?" she asks with a frown.

"Hmm." Dillinger suddenly moves and gets out of the car.

Miranda slides forward and with his offered hand, she gets out as well, "What are we doing in the middle of nowhere?"

John releases her hand and shrugs out of his thick coat, "Resting." He deadpans as he heads towards the thicker area of trees.

"In the open?" She follows him hastily, "Where is Hamilton?"

John takes his time to answer and then simply looks at her from over his shoulder, a smirk on his face as he swings the coat over his shoulder and quickens his footsteps.

"Went to take a leak."

Miranda flushes and huffs, "Did you have to remind me?" she grumbles as she looks around.

John pauses to chuckle and then whirls around, his arms spread open wide.

"Be my guest. Big space, don't you think?" He winks and then finally leans down to spread his thick coat on the ground.

Miranda scowls behind his back, "Right." She takes a deep breath and then heads right towards the trees, passing by the robber in the process.

"Whoa, whoa. Where are you going?" He laughs loudly and she pauses in mid-step.

"I need to go…"

He nods his head, trying to remain serious, "Right. Better head that way, doll." He points towards his right, "Unless you want to have a date with Red's little prince." He snickers, but Miranda doesn't find him amusing at all.

Without a word, she heads towards the opposite direction, all the way listening to his amused laughter.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

A bottle of whiskey is passed over to her and she looks up when she notices Red walking past them.

Miranda looks at the bottle with puzzlement.

"Where you going?" John calls as he opens his eyes. He is sitting against a tree trunk and Miranda is seated next to him upon his coat.

"I am not freezing my balls out here." Red calls and Miranda rolls her eyes at his choice of words.

"What am I doing with this?" she asks out loud, but neither of two men pays her any heed.

"I'll wake you up before the sun's up."

Red waves him as he gets onto the backseat of the car and moves around until he's comfortable.

Miranda can't help it, "Such gentleman."

John snickers, "Who cares for warmth when there is such largeness?" he smirks, "Hand me the bottle." He impatiently wiggles his fingers and she passes it over to him.

He grins and opens it. She watches as he slowly brings it to his nose and inhales. She is gaping when he sighs.

"What is it with men and…alcohol?" she mutters just as he takes a long sip, hissing as he does so.

"Well, doll," He thrusts the bottle back to her, "You'll have to forget your little problems with it and drink up. It'll keep you warm." He pauses and then shrugs out of his suit jacket.

"Might even get some more sleep." He covers her with it and she stares at him.

"What about you?"

He chuckles, "I'm good."

Miranda takes a sip and then quickly hands him the bottle, shaking her head, "You can have it…" she shudders as the taste comes to haunt her like a vivid reminder. Her father's breath used to smell exactly the same when he had-…

"Ah, sore subject again, ey doll?" He takes a sip and then runs his fingers through his hair, "Ol'daddy is wounded pretty bad…Who knows what might happen."

Miranda looks at him sharply, "Don't say that."

John pauses with the drink half way down his throat. He swallows and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"What was that?" He turns to face, his nicely shaped lips a surprised _'o'_ shape, "You don't feel sorry about him, do ya? That would negate all the…help you've provided me with."

She sighs, "I wish death upon no one."

"Clearly, you've not had it bad just yet-…"

"Or maybe some of us don't end up thieves and killers." She points out and he holds a finger up.

"Hold it right there, doll. I ain't killing people." He seems offended and she smirks a little.

"Right. Only your friends are."

"Nelson's a wild animal. Can't be reigned in." He waves away her comment and washes it down with another sip of the amber liquid.

"That's not an excuse." She whispers slowly and he turns to eye her with displeasure.

"Really?"

She pulls his jacket closer to her and turns to look at him, "Has it ever occurred to you that agents, police officers and bank directors are just doing their job? It's not their fault."

"Oh, I know all about that." He smirks a little, "You're speaking like an agent's daughter."

"I was born an agent's daughter. Not my fault either."

"Perhaps a tour in the corridors of a state penitentiary would help you realize that there is no right or wrong." He tilts his head to the side cockily, "One must do whatever he must to survive, doll. If you're looking for saints you ain't gonna find them here."

She bristles, "You forget that I have met no saints in my brief life, John. Don't speak to me about goodness." She takes the bottle from him and he raises an eyebrow as he watches her take a sip.

"Now we're talking…" He snorts as she pushes the whiskey right back into his hands.

"Why did you choose this life?" The question tumbles out of her mouth naturally and for a moment he frowns.

"'Cause I like it."

She gazes at him with a look of surprise and her expression causes him to laugh loudly. Red pressing on the car horn makes him laugh even more and Miranda shakes her head.

"Sorry, honey." He whirls the bottle between his hands, "You ain't gonna find traumatic stories in my little life." He purses his lips and Miranda tries not to be distracted by them.

Shocked by her reaction, she looks at his hands instead. Wrong move again.

"Well, sure," he continues with a bemused laugh, "My ol'man used to show his firm hand more times than I'd care to count," He looks up and locks eyes with her, 'But no one made me do anything I didn't wanna do. I am who I am." His eyes search her face and he notices with a little affectionate disgruntlement that the whiskey has caused a small flush to blossom on her usually alabaster skin.

"Right…And a criminal is what you've always dreamed to be?"

His eyes which had strayed to her mouth suddenly snap up to her eyes.

"Yeah…When you get ten years for a few dollars theft…Sure. Why not?"

His answer makes her falter and she leans back against the tree, bringing her knees to her chest.

"What about me?" she asks and he smirks a little.

"Well, you're a good girl."

Miranda sputters for a few seconds, "Good girl?" she repeats and he offers her the bottle again. She takes it because his eyes are suddenly too focused on her and she needs to look away. Lack of sleep is making her feel strange. She is certain of it.

"Yeah. A good girl. You don't like being a nice girl, doll?" His fingers are swift enough to push a lock of hair that is stuck on the side of her mouth and she tenses up. His fingers brush her skin when he pushes the hair away and she doesn't look at him when a tingle is left upon the corner of her mouth.

"I am not a good girl." She mutters at last, taking a tentative sip for warmth's sake, "But that was not what I was meaning to ask with that question…"

John chuckles at that and drums his fingers upon his thigh, "Uh huh…" He cocks an eyebrow, "Let me guess…" He brushes his upper lip with his thumb as he regards her, "Daddy has made you think you're…bad because you tempted him. Am I getting somewhere here?" He tries to find her eyes and she is surprised that a man like him was able to figure out something that had taken months of therapy for her to achieve.

She clears her throat, "Classic case, Mr. Dillinger. Very good." She turns to look at him, "You must have been a good student."

He sniggers and takes the bottle from her, "On the contrary. I got all Fs." His eyes were glimmering in amusement.

"Is that so?"

"Hmm."

Miranda shrugs, "I no longer think that by the way…" she starts, "I try not to anyway." Her voice is a small murmur, but she can feel his eyes on the side of her face and she is surprised that she can hold his attention by mentioning her messed up life.

"Try? So, you'd feel that you were naughty if you knew that men are attracted by a broad like you?" he huffs and shakes his head, "Doll, your father is a bastard."

"You're just saying that because he's after you." She laughs a little.

"Nah. I'm saying that 'cause it's true. And you never answered me." His eyes are narrowed and she can feel herself getting even pinker by the second.

Shifting uncomfortably upon the ground, she looks at the dark Essex across from them.

"It's not difficult to think that way when you feel dirty."

"Wha'? You mean these nasty little cuts? Caked blood is washed off easily, sugar." His voice is nonchalant.

She looks at him with puzzlement, "You're tying to make me feel better about myself…Why?"

Dillinger doesn't try to deny it, "You're with me now, doll." His reply causes a small flutter to blossom inside her belly.

"That is what I meant. Why am I with you?" she whispers and he blinks, his expression blank.

"How do you think ol'dad found you, doll?" His question catches her off guard.

"Um…I told you he was getting closer-…"

"Technology, doll. Phones. He's probably been intercepting Jackson's calls. It would take little time to find out you were working there. Now he's seen you. What do you think he'd do?" John is gazing at her like she is a simpleton and she blinks rapidly.

"I know what would happen to me if he caught me. I am not asking you that. I asked the reason behind your decision to tug me along. I am nothing but a burden. I am not like you."

He surprises her when he chuckles, "Are you sure about that?" He takes a swing from the bottle, "'Cause it seemed to me that you were looking for a way out."

Miranda stiffens, "From the rain of shots? I sure as hell was!"

"No, doll. From everything. I did you a favor really." He suddenly stands up and as he leans over her strands of his dark hair fall across his forehead, "You spent too many hours locked inside that doctor's office…You needed to break the routine." He pauses, "Tell me, how long has it been since you've been for a…what you smart people call them…Oh right. Session?" His cocky expression causes her anger to flare, but once again he is right.

"I will ignore the fact that you've been stalking me and I'll just say a few weeks."

"Hmm…That's right. The world's out here, doll."

"So, I will find the joys of the world by living like a criminal? On the run?"

"If you want to turn back and head right into jail, I have no problem." His eyes are slightly narrowed, "The stir is no place for beautiful women." His voice is slightly rough and Miranda wonders if his comment is also directed towards his incarcerated girlfriend. Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel.

"John." She calls and he pauses.

"Yeah?" His eyes are weary when he looks back at her.

Miranda sits up, "I didn't thank you…"

His eyebrows rise high on his forehead.

"So, thank you."

For a moment she thinks he's going to walk away, but in a flash his mouth changes and curls up in a wide grin.

"No problem, honey. It' be a waste anyway." He let his eyes drop below her face and she doesn't feel as intimidated by the long look as she should feel. A shudder goes through her and her temperature rises as his eyes drop onto her bare feet.

Corking the bottle he ignores her next question.

"Waste?"

His mouth twitches and he smirks secretively before he throws the remaining whiskey towards her.

"Better clean those up, eh? I'll take a walk. Be back soon."

He thrusts his hands in the pockets of his pants and then takes off, treading carefully through the trees, his swagger confident and suave.

Miranda averts her eyes and decides to take his advice. She uses the leftover drink to clean the nasty cuts on her legs, admiring him for not trying to cajole her like a babe. Deep down, she understands why though. He's just too considerate to mention his dislike for her constant inclination to cower at every touch. He is a man after all. Being compared with her sick father is certainly a blow…

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Is this…a farm?" Miranda breathes as the Essex stops directly in front of an old cottage.

"Yeah." Red calls as he turns off the engine and gets out of the car.

John watches his partner and then looks back at Miranda, "Come on, doll. Stay close." He pushes the door open and then helps her out, his eyes on the house.

"It looks…abandoned."

"It used to be one of our hideouts here in Indiana…" John's eyes are perusing the periphery, "Come on."

As they head slowly towards the cottage the roar of another car engine causes them to pause. A dark blue Plymouth comes and stops right in front of Dillinger and Miranda takes a step back.

"Easy. It's just Shaw." He smirks when a younger man gets out of the car along with a taller bulky one.

"Shaw?" Miranda mutters as the two men shake hands and John claps Shaw on the shoulder.

"An old friend." Hamilton informs her as he opens the door of the Plymouth to grab a bag that was inside.

Miranda is left to stare at the three men as Red makes his way into the cottage, obviously eager for a roof over his head.

"It's fast." Shaw grins when he points at the new car, "And legal." He adds and Dillinger snickers.

"How's that possible?

"I've got a few friends. Goin' to get rid of the Essex. You've used it for far too long. Gonna leave Parker here with you while I take care of this." Shaw takes the keys from John's hand and heads straight for the Essex, "Park it behind the house so it's not visible from the driveway."

John nods and then turns to Parker, "What happened to the gal?"

Shaw takes his time to shoot a glance towards Miranda who tries hard not to flinch back from the intense look. When his blue eyes wrinkle at the corners and he decides it is time to smirk at her she gives a small incline of her head. Her reaction causes him to chuckle and John turns his attention towards them.

"Willie." The reprimand is evident; so is the hard look and Shaw raises his hands up in surrender before he gets into the car.

"The feds must have caught her when they raided the place months ago." Parker replies.

"And the boy?"

Parker shrugs and John grits his teeth, "You said the place was safe." He hisses as Miranda steps closer.

"It is. No one's goin' to come back here. There was no lock on the door when we arrived last night. We fixed it as fast as we could after your call."

John runs a hand through his hair, "Did you bring the guns?"

"Yeah. They are on the back." Parker points with his thumb towards the Plymouth.

John steps around to get to the car and Miranda is suddenly face to face with the other man.

"Johnny, who is she?" Parker smirks a little and Miranda straightens her posture, her lips parted in order to reply, but the robber cuts her off.

"I'm-…"

"Her name's Eliza and she's with me. Make a round and check the area, will ya?" John slams the car door loudly and motions for Miranda to follow him.

Parker, taken aback by the animosity, nods quickly and scurries away, while Miranda arrives next to John's side.

Dillinger grabs her elbow and pushes her towards the cottage while holding onto the heavy bag of guns with the other.

"Eliza?" she whispers and John sighs.

"Think, doll. I ain't gonna let anyone besides Red know your name. Especially ol' thickheaded Parker." They enter the cottage and he turns the door without fully shutting it. The house is old, but it is a luxury when compared to the night they had to spend outside in the cold.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." Dillinger smirks, "I work with a lot of men, but I trust very few to keep their mouths shut when questioned about me and my affairs. Got it?"

Miranda nods and he motions towards the chairs, "Take a seat or something. I'm going to put the car to the back and then check these out." He pats the bag before he leaves it by the door.

"There are sandwiches in that bag, Mira-…"

"Are you talking to Eliza?" Dillinger cuts in and Red who had just poked his head in to look at them frowns and then quickly catches on.

"Oh, yeah! Right. Eliza. There's food." Hamilton nods and Miranda smiles.

John rolls his eyes and with a last look at her, walks out of the house, closing the door behind him.

Miranda picks up a sandwich and the cheese and ham in it taste like heaven to her dry mouth. Still chewing, she stands up and starts walking around the house, pausing by the bag of guns. Swallowing, she reaches down and unzips it. She frowns when she notices something odd. There are guns in there for sure, but there are also clothes. Cocking a single dark eyebrow, she reaches down and pulls up a long dark blue dress.

"Um, Red?" she calls and it doesn't take long for the other gangster to come to her.

"What?" He pauses when he sees her, "John won't like that." He admonishes and she allows the dress to fall right back down and into the bag.

"I suppose that bank robbers need dresses, right?" She asks with a small smile as her stomach flutters with warmth at the considerate gesture.

Hamilton blinks and then shrugs, a smirk on his lips, "Oh, sure. Especially when we're hiding in a stinking ol'cottage. There's a donkey out there in the back. Did you see it?" He jerks his head towards the back of the house and she laughs a little.

"No."

"I'll take you for a ride with it." He winks playfully and she smiles before she quickly sobers up.

"Seriously, how did you…"

"Phone call. You sleep like the dead by the way. That needs to change if you're gonna be with us." Red is far more serious that he was just a moment ago and she quickly nods.

"Now zip it back up. He ain't gonna like it that you ruined his surprise." He points a finger at her and then at the bag.

Miranda closes the bag right up and just as she is about to turn back towards the chair, John walks in with Parker.

He notices her stare and raises an eyebrow, "Wha'? You didn't miss me, did ya?" He winks and she rolls her eyes as she takes a seat.

John chuckles, picks up the bag and walks towards the stairs. Parker trails after him, but not without pausing to look at her from over his shoulder.

Miranda stares right back at him steadily until he nudges Dillinger to get his attention.

"Where did you get her from? I want one." He whispers and John smirks a little without looking at him.

"You could never afford her, boy. Now get your head out of your ass and follow me." He mutters and as they arrive at one of the two bedrooms of the cottage he turns and sticks the tip of a gun right against Parker's temple.

The man jumps and his eyes go wide.

"Do more than look at her while we're here and I'll cut your legs off. Perhaps, I'll even aim a little higher." John lowers his voice to a mere whisper, "Have I made myself clear or do I need to spell these out for you?"

Parker quickly shakes his head, "It was just a joke, Johnny."

Dillinger pulls the gun away and smirks, "I know that. But the greatest truths are often told in jokes."

Parker gulps and John simply pats his shoulder before he turns and disappears into the room. Parker follows him with a thin layer of sweat on his skin and with a much lesser enthusiasm this time…

**End of chapter 6**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading! **

**Okay, a little info. Shaw and Parker where real persons, real robbers, and Dillinger's partners when he was starting out. I am not sure if they are still alive or free in 1933, but for the sake of my plot they are. I am reading a book about Dillinger and so far they are alive…So…**

**The cottage they arrive at in this chapter is actually the one shown in the movie right after the first escape from jail…The very first scene, where Dillinger broke his friends out of the prison in Michigan City. **

**Right, so…Comments? Liked it? Hated it? Please let me know!**

**Xxx Lina :D**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Another quick update, right? I want to thank: LabyFan23TinkerbellxO, BellainWonderland, XantheXV, AqoCJeyBee, Lesyhla Gisel and Dionne dance. Thank you so much, lovelies. Let's see what you think about this…**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Public Enemies.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

_**When it is time to die let us not discover that we have never lived.**_

_**~ Henry David Thoreau**_

"_Where are you hiding, Mira?"_

_The voice is enough to make her flinch. Pressing herself harder against the wall and gathering her knees even closer to her chest, she prays that he will just go away. What more does he want? _

_Her night clothes are clinging to her body as her skin is coated in a heavy layer of sweat. She can feel it sliding down her chest and under her breasts in big fat beads, leaving trails of humiliation behind it._

"_Now be a good girl and come out for daddy."_

_Her lip curls at the sound of that name. She is too damn old to still be called a daddy's girl and every time he wants something, every time he wants _that_ he always takes care to remind her that he is her father._

_Shivering, she can hear the floorboards creaking loudly above her head as he storms up and down her room. Her palms are sweaty as she curls her fingers into a fist and she can feel- no, taste- the heady flavor of fear and shame upon her own tongue._

"_I want to see you."_

_She closes her eyes shut as she hears the slightly drunken slur. Her stomach is still churning and she can barely form a coherent thought as his footsteps are drawn away from her nearly destroyed bedroom. She can still feel the cuts on her legs from the broken lamp she had used as a shield when she made her escape from him._

"_Mira? Your mother will be back. I will tell her how rude and uncouth you've been!" There is threat in his tone, but Miranda can only shake her head. He won't. He never does. He never explains the scratches and the bruises on him to her mother, like she never explains why she hides her body in long, unfitting clothes, or why she smiles too much around her mother. The smile is fake, a mask, because it is the only way to stomach what is happening to her, to her mother, to other women._

_**Do not defend your mother.**_

**I am not.**

_**Yes, you are. Just because she allows it to happen to her, she mustn't allow it to happen to you.**_

**She doesn't know.**

_**Are you sure-…**_

"_Miranda! Get out here!" His tone is exasperated, "I only want to talk to you, little one. Take care of those cuts."_

_**Lie. Do not trust him. Look at your wrists.**_

_She looks down and she can see the half crescent marks. They are caked with blood. Her stomach is churning at the sight of the forming bruises surrounding them and she thrusts her hands deep between her knees. Her toes are clawing at the old mattress underneath her just as the door to the storage room is thrust open. She looks up, bruises and cuts forgotten as self preservation makes its appearance deep in her brain._

_**Don't move. No startling movements. **__She reminds herself as his handsome and at the same time loathed face comes into view. He is holding some cotton and a bottle of alcohol in his hands. His clothes look as disheveled as before and she can see the scratch her nails have left on his jaw. Bile rises up in her throat when he jerkily throws her a pair of fresh undergarments and a clean dress. They fall upon her legs and she flinches, her breath hitching as his eyes roam her body with barely contained disgust. She can see how his fingers are curled around the antiseptic and cotton and she doesn't feel anything. The remorse and shame in his eyes makes her shudder with further disgust and she can feel her heart numbing with emptiness._

_He takes a step closer to her and she can barely hold in the whimper of horror. He pauses, but doesn't stop. He is breathing hard through his nose and she can see his chest heaving with the effort. She knows that he wanted to be anywhere but there. He would rather be locked in another room, sleeping away the horrors of his own deeds. She wonders how he can sleep. She wonders how the others around him cannot see him for what he really is; a sick, demented bastard. She wonders as he kneels in front of her, staring at him with narrowed eyes, how he would cover the blow if she were to file for abuse against him. Would he be able to slither his way out of his own club of self righteous officers? He probably could._

_She can see his hand reaching out for her leg and she acts on an instinct. She slaps his hand away, throwing him off balance. He lands on his back on the dusty ground, but he is not that out of it not to get back onto his knees. He tries again and this time she lashes out with her nails._

_He hisses as she catches his hand and throws it away from her. _

_He actually starts chuckling. It is an empty, empty sound._

"_Why don't you succeed? Why don't you fight me better when it actually matters? Hmm? Just like your mother you are. Why?"_

_Miranda huddles backwards, but he just follows._

_**I do fight. I do fight, I do fight, I do fight-…**_

"_You are exactly like her. I see none of myself in you. Are you even mine, Miranda?" His hands abandon the cotton and bottle and curl around her ankles._

_She releases a hoarse, choked sound and tries to free herself, but he shakes his head._

"_For sixteen years…I've been wondering. You cannot be mine when I…" he trails off and his eyes darken with that emotion that a father can never, must never, feel for his child; his daughter._

_She curls even further upon herself and when she speaks her voice is barely her own._

"_Get out." _

_His eyes flash up to hers._

"_You cannot order me out of my own house-…"_

"_This is my mother's house." The words are hissed and she can feel the twist she has forced upon her features. Her face hurts from it._

"_Is it? Is that a threat?" His breath is closer and she can smell the expensive liquor on his tongue. Her insides churn even more and her skin is crawling. She has to get out of there. She needs to go. She needs to hide from the world. She has to scold her body with blazing bathwater so that next time she can be stronger. She has to get him off of her. Now._

_Acting like a cornered, caged animal she uses her feet to break his hold. She succeeds and he groans when he is sent backwards. She doesn't stop. She swings out with her foot and she catches his jaw. There is a resonating crack and she feels filled with glee at the sound._

_**Wrong. Wrong. He's your father.**_

**No, he is not. Not anymore.**

_Moving fast, she climbs down from the old mattress, her old bed, and lands on her feet upon the dusty floor. She takes a look at his crumpled form before she decides to simply bolt for the door. She fails when a hand clutches at her long strands. Crying out, she finds herself pressed against him and she squeezes her eyes shut._

_**No. No. Not again.**_

"_Where do you think you're going?" His voice is laced with disbelief and hurt._

_Dear Lord. He doesn't have a right to be hurt._

_Writhing in his hold, because the way he is pressed against her feels so wrong, she stomps on his foot and he growls before he throws her forward. She lands face down upon his working table, groaning out loud. _

_He is on her in two seconds, but she can feel that his touch is not destined to gain pleasure. No. He wants to punish her for what she has turned him into._

**It's not my fault. It's not my fault.**

_**Is it not? Then fight him off.**_

_And she does. Her hand shoots out and starts groping around for something, anything._

_His fingers are twisted in her long hair and his free hand is pressing hard on her lower back, just above her buttocks. _

"_I have to take care of the cuts, little girl. I have to take care of you…"_

_Miranda's anger flares and she can feel herself boiling with disdain._

"_Too late, daddy." She whispers as her fingers finally curl around something heavy and metallic._

_A hand comes to rest on her neck and she doesn't hesitate. She allows her arm to move. Bucking under him, she manages to turn her body around so she is facing him. Without preamble, she swings her hand and the object misses its target and pounds against his shoulder instead. It is sufficient enough because he stumbles backwards, holding his shoulder. He growls in pain, but his eyes are shining as he looks at his daughter. Miranda is breathing heavily, but then everything changes. She finds herself barely able to keep her balance as the old desk behind her buckles under her weight. Her feet stumble over her father's and she can feel herself falling. A hand shoots out to steady her, her father's hand, but she bats it away like it is the plague. She can do nothing else but fall and he follows, his brow furrowed as he calls her name._

"_Miranda." There are warm fingers on her chest. She starts writhing wildly under the hold._

_Her head is throbbing, but she still doesn't let go of the heavy tool she used as a weapon. When she finally finds herself on the floor, she can still hear him calling her name, more frantically now._

"_Miranda! Miranda!"_

"_What the hell?!" The voice has changed and there is a hot hand on her collarbone now._

"_Mira!" She swings the tool again and someone clutches at her wrist._

"Mira!"

Her eyes snap open and for a moment she doesn't know where she is. The only thing she knows is that someone is holding her down and that she has her fingers around something cold. Her finger is inside a small loop and the rest of her hand is coiled around the firm object.

"Mira." Her name again and she blinks rapidly, trying to push the fog of sleep and nightmare away.

The first thing she notices is the pair of dark eyes that are staring at her with disbelief. Brown strands of hair are falling over his brow and she can see how groggy his expression is.

John.

He was probably sleeping.

Her eyes follow the hand that is pressing against her collarbone and she starts squirming.

"No."

"Mira. _Mira_, calm the fuck down, doll!" She can hear how breathless his voice is and then she finally takes her time to really _see_. Dillinger's back is pressed against the headboard of the old bed and yes, he has his hand on her collarbone, but he is not the one threatening her. No. She realizes with shock that she has her hand around a gun; a gun that is pointing at him. His fingers are tight around her wrist and now she realizes why.

"What…what is going on?" Her voice when it comes is so small and shaky that she can barely recognize it.

John's eyes widen minutely at her words and he blinks, once, twice until he can fully comprehend what the hell happened.

"You tell me, little sport." His voice is anything but amused, "And you're still holding my gun to my fucking head, doll." His eyes zero on the pistol in her pale hand and she suddenly freezes.

With a small whimper of terror and shame, she drops the gun and it falls upon John's lap which, she realizes a little too late, she is straddling.

The robber is quick to grab the gun, "Care to tell me how you managed to pull back the safety?" he mutters as he puts the safety back on and raises critical eyes to her face.

Miranda scrambles off his lap and lands in a heap upon the thin mattress that she only just a moment ago realized that they have been sharing.

"I was sleeping." Her voice is one of disbelief as well and he cocks an eyebrow at that.

"That is why I asked, doll. You were asleep and yet you managed to grab my one and only Beretta M1934 and point it at my damn head."

Miranda blinks, "Beretta M1934. Where did you get that one?" she asks and he surprises her when he snickers.

"Where do you think?" He waves the gun at her and she swallows hard.

"Black market." It is not tricky to guess.

"Yep. Now, back to our situation. What the fuck did just happen?" His eyes are narrowed and it appears that he looks shaken.

"I wouldn't shoot you." She defends herself as she gathers the sheets and pulls them up her lap.

"Ain't that right?" he murmurs as he stares at her.

"I don't know how."

At that he snorts, "Well, it ain't that tricky, baby doll. Especially when your target is a breath away from your face. You have to be blind in order to fail." He raises the gun and points it at her, "You had the aim right, alright. But your hold? It stinks." He scoots back against the headboard and softly places the Beretta upon the chair next to the bed, right on top of his shirt and vest. Her eyes go to his loose pants and flannel shirt and she immediately averts her eyes.

"I had a dream." She says simply when she looks at the way he is gazing at her.

"I got that alright." He mutters as he eyes her figure with cautiousness, "You sleepwalk?"

"No." she shakes her head firmly, "You…touched me."

John frowns, "Wha'?"

"Before I woke up. I felt you touching me."

He pauses for a moment and then, "Well, sorry to break it to you, baby doll, but this bed ain't exactly a damn King's. 'Course I touched you."

"Never touch me when I am dreaming." She shakes her head again and he looks lost.

"Why the hell not? I was sleepin' so I am off the hook, right? And how am I supposed to wake you anyway?"

"Just…talk to me. Touching sets me off."

His eyes are intense as he looks at her, "Well, it seems to me that those therapy sessions didn't go all too swell, eh darlin'?"

Miranda licks her dry lips and rubs her wrists. The dream, the _memory_, might have dissolved, but it is still holding her in its clutches.

"I haven't seen such a dream for months. I suppose that it's all the moving around." She mutters and he rubs his jaw, "I crowded you, didn't I?" he murmurs uncomfortably, "The damn ground is too hard-…"

"It's fine. You didn't do anything wrong." She is already moving out of the narrow bed.

"Where are you goin'?" His voice is surprised.

"To sit in the kitchen."

"It's cold."

"I'm fine." She slips into his coat and he smirks at that.

"Got permission for that, doll?"

She pauses at the door and then smiles a little, "I don't think I need to since you decided to keep a Beretta next to a very unstable gal, Mr. Dillinger."

He doesn't have the chance to reply because she is out of the door before he can come up with anything clever to say.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"Is that coffee?" Red's voice is loud and Miranda turns around with a cup already in her hand.

"Sure." She nods and hands her own cup to him before she pours another.

"Thanks. Why up so early?"

"Yeah, why up so early, Eliza?" Shaw winks at her as he grabs the pot from her hand and pours himself a cup. They have no sugar, so he just takes it and leaves. Miranda looks after him cautiously and Red notices.

"Don't mind him. He ain't trouble, trust me." He takes a sip of coffee, "So, no sleep?"

She simply shakes her head, "No."

"Hard bed? I imagine you're used in better accommodation." His mouth curls upwards and she shakes her head.

"Just a dream." She puts down the pot and then heads in silence for the back porch of the cottage. She ignores the heavy weaponry that is lined up against the wall and slides outside in her long skirt and long sleeved shirt. She hasn't bothered with her hair and the wind causes the strands to get in front of her face.

_I shouldn't be here. I am making a mess of things. _

"That for me?" John's suave voice cuts through her inner musings and she is startled when she feels his hand on her cup. He takes the cup for his own and takes a sip while smirking.

"No sugar, huh? Damn." He hisses, but doesn't make a move to hand the cup back, "Came to keep company to the donkey?" he asks with amusement and she slowly turns to look at him.

"You're up early."

"Can't you imagine why?" He takes another sip and then eyes the clothes he bought her. His response is to grin.

"Got the size right."

"You did. Thank you."

"No problem, doll."

"You have a job to do." She remarks and he chuckles a little.

"That'd be right." He takes a look around the cottage and then turns to face her fully, "Listen, Mira."

Miranda is unsettled by his expression and the tone in his voice.

"Yes?"

"I've been thinking about your…dream or whatever it was."

"Hmm. Am I in trouble?" she blurts out and for a moment he seems surprised before he smirks.

"You sure are with _daddy_ trailing after you."

She hangs her head, "You should have at least let me have my coffee first."

The cup is thrust back into her hands and he doesn't seem uncomfortable at sharing a drink; at all.

"Daddy will think that you're fraternizing with the enemy so to speak."

She flushes and clears her throat, "Isn't that what I'm doing?"

He sends her a wink, "He doesn't need to know that."

Miranda is confused and not shy to show it, "I don't get it."

John thrusts one hand inside his pocket as he leans closer, "As far as I am concerned, Crowley believes that you went with me willingly…But, what if we mislead him?"

Miranda doesn't like the sound of that, "Mislead him. How?"

"Make him think you're lost…Alone…or…"

"Dead."

John clears his throat, "Look at it this way, doll. If he knows that his daughter is missin' he will leave us a little space to move. He will leave _you_ a little space to move."

"You're tired of me." She meant it as a joke, but he seems irritated.

"I am not _tired_ of you, Mira. I am just saying that he will get distracted."

"And how do you plan to go about this…distraction of yours?"

He reaches out and takes her hand. His fingers quickly remove the thin silver ring she has on her finger.

"What are you doing?" she gasps.

"Forming a plan."

"That was my mother's!"

"Exactly." He enunciates as he pockets the ring, "If Daddy found this, not far from Jackson's bar, he would get suspicious. Then we can leave him some more trail to pick up."

Miranda slowly swallows, "That's cruel."

He simply stares at her, mouth pursed, "Can you dig it?" He cocks an eyebrow and doesn't make any other remark.

_Just do it. He deserves to suffer._

"Fine…Do you need anything else…" Her eyes are on the pocket of his pants. That was her mother's ring. The only thing she has left of her.

"We'll get it back somehow." John's voice is sharp as it cuts through her thoughts again and she quickly nods, not wanting to appear too weak.

_Yeah, right. You pointed a gun to his head just because he touched you._

"And I'll get a larger mattress, right?" He steps back, but not before grabbing her cup and taking another sip.

When he hands it back, he's smirking, "I might bring you some sugar when I'm back." He winks and then turns on his heel, "Shaw! Wake up Parker now!" he barks and then calls back at her, "Left you the Beretta. Don't shoot the Plymouth if you see it pulling up in the driveway this evening." He grins at her from over his shoulder before he is gone. Only then does she notice the two gun holsters he has strapped on his shoulders.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She still hasn't touched the gun by the time the Plymouth arrives at the cottage. Not that she didn't get jumpy while being on her own in the old, squeaky house because she did.

She opens the door and pauses when she notices a blonde woman climbing out of the Plymouth. John follows behind her with Parker. Shaw is nowhere to be seen when Red gets out of the driver's seat.

Miranda opens the door wider and watches with confusion as Dillinger walks ahead of the blonde petite woman, but not before dropping a wink and a kiss to her lips. She averts her gaze and focuses on the bag in his hand.

"Hey, doll." He calls as he tips his hat at her.

She waves her hand in greeting and when John is close enough she clears her throat.

"The girl?"

Dillinger smirks, "Shaw's friend." He winks as he throws the bag- it's probably filled with money-upon the table.

"Oh?"

"Everything alright?" he asks casually behind his shades and she nods absently.

"Hmm. Hi." She greets the girl out of politeness,-what else? - but John snickers and grabs her hand, ignoring her tense muscles.

"She doesn't speak much English." She can feel that his palm is slick and sticky, but she has no time to remove her hand from his hold as he pulls her with him to the back of the cottage.

"Where are we going?" she questions as they slip through the backdoor.

He stops and let goes of her hand.

"What happened to your hand?"

John dismisses her question and slips his hand to the inner pocket of his thick coat.

"Got you something." He smirks and Miranda doesn't know what to think of his wicked eyes.

"What? Besides the female company, I mean." She clears her throat and he laughs a little before he finally pulls his hand out of his pocket.

Miranda takes a step back and he chuckles again.

"Relax, little sport. It doesn't bite…Well, unless you want it to."

"I don't understand."

John takes a step closer, leaning into her a little and she tries hard not to move back. He smells of leather and smoke. Odd combination, but not entirely unpleasant. It's not cologne by any means, but…

"Well, since you are in our company, I thought you might need something like this." He brings the gun in front of her while holding it in both hands in a horizontal position, "This is a Beretta M1926 V2. Extremely light and almost invisible. It's reliable and small for such a small hand." He smirks at the look on her face.

"Alright…You forget that I don't know how to use it." She breathes with wide eyes. She should not be allowed around guns. He should know that.

"Ah." He drawls as he leans closer to her face. He once again ignores the way she stiffens and leans even closer. She is staring with wide eyes at his slightly parted lips, but that doesn't prevent him from pressing them against hers. It is just a small pressure against her mouth, lips simply pressing against lips, and then he pulls back. No lingering, no hovering, no wetness that would complicate things. And he doesn't look like he just kissed her; at all. He looks…absolutely clueless about the sudden turmoil he has just caused.

"What am I here for then, ey?" He twirls the small gun around his finger before he presses it boldly inside her palm. Without another word, he steps back and heads for the house, shrugging out of his long coat and then glancing at his hurt palm.

Miranda is frozen on the spot when he speaks again.

"Don't miss me too much. Oh and try not to shoot yourself." He snickers a little as he disappears from her sight, but she still doesn't move an inch. Her mouth is tingling and she quickly raises a hand to it, but she stops short from rubbing her hand across her lips.

_You don't like this. Remember?_

Ignoring her inner voice, she drops the hand without erasing his lips from hers and turns the other way, trying hard to fight off the fierce blush on her cheeks.

_I don't._

**End of chapter 7**

**Author's note: Thank you for reading. Okay, I don't know a thing about guns aside from the fact that my dad owns a Beretta that he uses for his hunting hobby…Actually, he owns three rifles, but I don't know what the other two are…Anyway, excuse the lack of knowledge, okay? But the models mentioned above are accurate. I did my research. Lol**

**I hope you liked it…And do you think the kiss meant something more than a friendly peck? A lot of people do it without putting too much thought in it…What is going on in this case? Hmm?**

**Comments are loved!**

**Until next time!**

**Xxx Lina :D**


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